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THE 


CHRISTMAS    BOOKS 


OF 


Mr.   M.   a.   TITMARSH. 


SIRS.   PERKINS'S   BALL.      OUR    STREET.      DR.    BIRCH. 

THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE.     THE 

R'lSE  AND  THE  RING.     THE  BOOK 

OF  SNOBS,  AND  BALLADS. 


BY 

WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY. 


lyiTH  ILLUSTRA  TIONS  BY  THE  A  UTHOR. 


CHICAGO    AND    NEW   YORK: 

BELFORD,  CLARKE    &   COMPANY, 

Publishers. 


Si,  II 


CONTENTS. 


CHRISTMAS  STORIES. 


Mrs.  Perkins's  Ball 1 1 

Our  Street 43 

Dr.  Birch  and  his  Young  Friends 77 

The  Kickleburys  on  the  Rhine 107 

Tlie  Rose  and  the  Ring ;  or,  the  History  of  Prince  Giglio  and 

Prince  Bulbo 163 


THE   BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


PAGE. 


^s  Prefatory  Remarks 247 

^  I.  The  Snob  playfully  dealt  with 251 

II.  The  Snob  Royal 255 

III.  The  Influence  of  the  Aristocracy  on  Snobs 258 

IV.  "The  Court  Circular,"  and  its  Influence  on  Snobs 261 

672730  iii 


^ 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXX  n'. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLl. 

XLII. 

XLIII. 

XLIV. 


What  Snobs  Admire 

[•  On  Some  Respectable  Snobs, 
Great  City  Snobs 


On  Some  Military  Snobs 

On  Clerical  Snobs  and  Snobbishness. 


\ 

[-  On  University  Snobs, .  . , 

On  Literary  Snobs.. ,  , . 

A  Little  about  Irish  Snobs 

Party-Giving  Snobs 

Dining-Out  Snobs 

Dinner-Giving  Snobs  further  considered. 

[  Some  Continental  Snobs 

English  Snobs  on  the  Continent 


On  Some  Country  Snobs. 


Snobbium  Gatherum. 


Snobs  and  IMarriafre. 


Club  Snobs. 


Chapter  Last. 


PAGE. 

.   264 

268 

271 

27s 
278 
281 
284 
287 
290 

293 

296 

299 

302 

305 
308 

312 

315 
320 
322 
326 

329 

333 
337 
339 
344 
347 
350 
353 
357 
360 

364 
368 
372 
376 
378 
381 
38s 
387 
390 
394 
3;;7 


BALLADS. 

The  Chronicle  of  the  Drum,   Part  I 405 

'•  '•  Part  II 411 

Abd-el-Kader  at  Toulon  :  or,  the  Caged  Hawk 419 


CONTENTS. 


The  King  of  Brentford's  Testament 421 

The  White  Squall    428 

Peg  of  Limavaddy 433 

May-Day  Ode .  . .' 436 

The  Ballad  of  Bouillabaisse 440 

The  Mahogany  Tree 443 

The  Yankee  Volunteers 444 

The  Pen  and  the  Album 446 

Mrs.  Katherine's   Lantern 449 

Lucy's  Birthda}' 450 

The  Cane-Bottom'd  Chair 451 

Piscator  and  Piscatrix 453 

The  Rose  upon  my  Balcony 454 

Ronsard  to  his  Mistress 455 

At  the  Church  Gate ■ .   456 

The  Age  of  Wisdom 457 

Sorrows  of  Werther .      45S 

A  Doe  in  the  City 458 

The  Last  of  May   460 

"  Ah,  Bleak  and  Barren  was  the  Moor  " 460 

Song  of  the  \'iolet 461  • 

Fairy  Days 462 

Pocahontas 463 

From  Pocahontas 464 

LOVE-SONGS   MADE  EASY  :— 

What  makes  my  Heart  to  Thrill  and  Glow  ? 465 

The  Ghazul,  or  Oriental  Love-song  : — 

The  Rocks T 467 

The  Merry  Bard 467 

The  Caique 468 

My  Nora 469 

To  Mary 470 

Serenade 470 

The  Minaret  Bells 471 

Come  to  the  Greenwood  Tree 471 

FIVE  GERMAN   DITTIES:— 

A  Tragic  Story 473 

The  Chaplet    .' 474 

The  King  on  the  Tower 475 

On  a  very  old  Woman 476 

A  Credo 476 


CONTENTS. 


FOUR  IMITATIONS  OF    BERANGER:— 

PAGE, 

Le  Rol  d'Yvetot 478 

The  King  of  Yvetot 479 

The  King  of  Brentford = 481 

Le  Grenier 482 

The  Garret 483 

Roger  Bontemps ...    ....  484 

^  Jolly  Jack 486 

IMITATION  OF  HORACE:— 

To  his  Serving  Bov. 488 

Ad  Ministram". 488 


OLD  FRIENDS  WITH   NEW  FACES:— 

The  Knightly  Guerdon 490 

The  Almack'.s  Adieu 491 

When  the  Gloom  i.s  on  the  Glen 492 

The  Red  Flag 493 

Dear  Jack 494 

.Commanders  of  the  Faithful 494 

When  Moonlike  ore  the  Hazure  Seas 495 

The  Legend  of  St.  Sophia  of  Kioff 496 

King  Canute 515 

Friar's  Song 517 

Atra  Cura 518 

Requiescat 519 

Lines  upon  my  Sister's  Portrait 520 

Titmarsh's  Carmen  Lilliense 521 

The  Willow-Tree 524 

The  Willow-Tree  (another  version)    526 

LYRA  HIBERNICA:  — 

The  Pimlico  Pavilion 531 

The  Crystal  Palace 533 

Molony's  Lament 538 

Mr.  Molony's  Account  of  the  Ball  given  to  the  Nepaulese 

Ambassador  by  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company.  540 

The  Battle  of  Limerick 542 

Larry  O'Toolc 546 

The  Rose  of  Flora 54G 

The  Last  Irish  Grievance S4J 


CONTENTS. 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X.  :— 

PAGR. 

The  Wofle  New  Ballad  of  Jane  Roney  and  Mary  Brown.. .  549 

The  Three  Christmas  Waits 551 

Lines  on  a  late  Hospicious  Ewent 556 

The  Ballad  of  Eliza  Davis 559 

Damages,  Two  Hundred  Pounds 563 

The  Knight  and  the  Lady 565 

Jacob  Homnium's  Hoss 567 

The  Speculators 571 

A  Woeful  New  Ballad  of  the  Protestant  Conspiracy  to  take 

the  Pope's  Life 573 

The  Lamentable  Ballad  of  the  Foundling  of  Shoreditch. . .  575 

The  Organ  Boy's  Appeal 578 

Little  Billee 580 

The  End  of  the  Play 581 

Vanitas  Vanitatum 583 


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LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 

Grand  Polka  {Frontispiece). 

The  Mulligan  and  Mr.  M.  A.  Titmarsh To  face  page  13 

The  Mulligan  and  Miss  Fanny  Perkins 22 

Mr.  P'rederick  Minchin 17 

The  Bali-Room  Door. 19 

Lady  Bacon,  the  Miss  Bacons,  and  Mr.  Flam 20 

Mr,  Larkins 21 

Miss  Bunion 22 

Mr.  Hicks 23 

Miss  Meggot 24 

Miss  Ranville,  Rev.  Mr.  Toop,  Miss  Mullins,  and  Mr.  Winter.  25 

Miss  Joy,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joy,  Mr.  Botter 26 

Mr.  Ranville  Ranville  and  Jack  Hubbard 27 

Mrs.  Trotter,  Miss  Trotter,  Miss  Toady,  Lord  Methuselah 28 

Mr.  Beaumoris,  Mr.  Grig,  Mr.  Flynders 29 

Cavalier  Seul 31 

M.  Canaillard,  Lieutenant  Baron  de  Bobwitz 32 

The  Boudoir — Mr.  Smith,  Mr.  Brown,  Miss  Bustleton 33 

George  Grundsell 35 

Miss  Martin  and  Young  Ward 37 

The  Mulligan  and  Mr.  Perkins 38 


OUR  STREET. 

A  Street  Courtship 47 

Captain  and  Mrs.  Bragg  of  Our  Street 48 

A  Studio  in  Our  Street 50 

Some  of  our  Gentlemen 53 

Why  our  Nursemaids  like   Kensington  Gardens 55 

A  Street  Ceremony 56 

The  Lady  whom  Nobody  knows 58 

The  Man  in  Possession .  62 

The  Lion  of  the  Street 65 

The  Dove  of  the  Street   67 

Venus  and  Cupid 69 

The  Siren  of  Our  Street 70 

The  Street-Door  Key. 71 

A  Scene  of  Passion 73 

The  Happy  Family 73 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


DR.  BIRCH. 


A  Youn£?  Raphael - To  face pa^e  >^ 

The  Dear  Brothers •    '  85 

A  Serious  Case - »■• - ^9 

A  Hamper  for  Briggs's ■  . 9^ 

Sure  to  Succeed  in  Life ..,..„ = - 93 

The  Pirate = ■  •  -  •  95 

Home,  Sweet  Home ,-....,.  96 

A  Rescue • 0.  ..... o .... .  97 

Wanted,  a  Governess • .    =  o  ■. . .    102 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 

My  Lady  the  Countess 1 26 

More  Wind  than  is  Pleasant.. 127 

"  We  call  those  Uglies  !  Captain  Hicks  " 129 

Hirsch  and  the  Luggage I34 

An  Hereditary  Legislator ^^1 

The  Reinecks ■  j8 

A  Specimen  of  a  Briton .  Jo 

The  Interior  of  Hades 143 

The  Water  Cure    i47 

The  German  Peasant  Maiden 151 

Charge  of  Noirbourg 1 52 

The  Old  Story IS3 

The  Princess  of  Mogador 160 

•'  Schlafen  sie  wohl  " 161 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 

His  R.  H.  the  Prince  of  Crim  Tartary 192 

The  Rivals '. , .  198 

Angelica  arrives  just  in  Time 206 

To  Arms  ! ....  220 

Prince  Giglio's  Speech  to  the  Army 222 

Poor  Bulbo  is  ordered  for  Kxecution 228 

The  Terrific  Coml:)at  between  King  Giglio  and  King  Padella.. .  233 

Madam  Gruffanuff  finds  a  Husband .  . ." T 243 


THE  MULLIGAN  ANU  M.S-  M    A-  T'TMAEiiH 


Mrs.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


THE    MULLIGAN  {OF   BALLYMULLIGAN),   AND 
HO  W  WE    WENT  TO  MRS.  PERKLNS'S.  BALL. 

I  DO  not  know  where  Ballymulligan  is,  and  never  knew  any- 
body who  did.  Once  I  asked  the  Mulligan  the  question,  when 
that  chieftain  assumed  a  look  of  dignity  so  ferocious,  and  spoke 
of  "  Saxon  curiawsitee  "  in  a  tone  of  such  evident  displeasure, 
that,  as  after  all  it  can  matter  very  little  to  me  whereabouts  lies 
the  Celtic  principality  in  question,  1  have  never  pressed  the  in- 
quiry any  farther. 

I  don't  know  even  the  Mulligan's  town  residence.  One 
night,  as  he  bade  us  adieu  in  Oxford  Street, — "I  live  there,'' 
says  he,  pointing  down  towards  Uxbridge,  with  the  big  stick  he 
carries  : — so  his  abode  is  in  that  direction  at  any  rate.  He  has 
his  letters  addressed  to  several  of  his  friends'  houses,  and  his 
parcels,  &c.,  are  left  for  him  at  various  taverns  which  he  fre- 
quents. That  pair  of  checked  trousers,  in  which  you  see  him 
attired,  he  did  me  the  favor  of  ordering  from  my  own  tailor, 
who  is  quite  as  anxious  as  anybody  to  know  the  address  of  the 
wearer.  In  like  manner  my  hatter  asked  me,  "  Oo  was  the 
Hirish  gent  as  'ad  ordered  four  'ats  and  a  sable  boar  to  be 
sent  to  my  lodgings  ?  "  As  I  did  not  know  (however  I  might 
guess),  the  articles  have  never  been  sent,  and  the  Mulligan  has 
withdrawn  his  custom  from  the  "  infernal  four-and-nine-penny 
scoundthrel,"  as  he  calls  him.  The  hatter  has  not  shut  up  shop 
in  consequence. 

I  became  acquainted  with  the  Mulligan  through  a  distin- 
guished countryman  of  his,  who,  strange  to  say,  did  not  know 
the  chieftain  himself.  But  dining  with  my  friend  Fred  Clancy, 
of  the  Irish  bar,  at  Greenwich,  the  Mulligan  came  up,  "  inthro- 
juiced  "  himself  to  Clancy  as  he  said,  claimed  relationship  with 

(ii) 


12 


MJiS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


him  on  the  side  of  Brian  Boroo,  and  drawing  his  chair  to  our 
table,  quickly  became  intimate  with  us.  He  took  a  great  liking 
to  me,  was  good  enough  to  find  out  my  address  and  pay  me  a 
visit :  since  which  period  often  and  often  on  coming  to  break- 
fast in  the  morning  I  have  found  him  in  my  sitting-room  on  the 
sofa  engaged  with  the  rolls  and  morning  papers :  and  many  a 
time,  on  returning  home  at  night  for  an  evening's  quiet  reading, 
I  ha\e  discovered  this  honest  fellow  in  the  arm-chair  before  the 
fire,  perfuming  the  apartment  with  my  cigars  and  trying  the 
quality  of  such  liquors  as  might  be  found  on  the  sideboard. 
The  way  in  which  he  pokes  fun  at  Betsy,  the  maid  of  the  lodg- 
ings, is  prodigious.  She  begins  to  laugh  whenever  he  comes  ; 
if  he  calls  her  a  duck,  a  divvle,  a  darlin',  it  is  all  one.  He  is 
just  as  much  a  master  of  the  premises  as  the  individual  who 
rents  them,  at  fifteen  shillings  a  week ;  and  as  for  handker- 
chiefs, shirt-collars,  and  the  like  articles  of  fugitive  haberdash- 
ery, the  loss  since  I  have  known  him  is  unaccountable.  I  sus- 
pect he  is  like  the  cat  in  some  houses  :  for,  suppose  the  whiskey, 
the  cigars,  the  sugar,  the  tea-caddy,  the  pickles,  and  other 
groceries  disappear,  all  is  laid  upon  that  edax-rcrum  of  a  Muni- 
s'^"* 

The  greatest  offence  that  can  be  offered  to  him  is  to  call  him 

Mr.  Mulligan.  "  Would  you  deprive  me,  sir,"  says  he,  "  of  the 
title  which  was  bawrun  be  me  princelee  ancestors  in  a  hundred 
thousand  battles  ?  In  our  own  green  valleys  and  fawrests,  in 
the  American  savannahs,  in  the  sierras  of  Speen  and  the  flats 
of  Flandthers,  the  Saxon  has  quailed  before  me  war-cry  of 
Mulligan  Aboo  !  Mr.  Mulligan  !  I'll  pitch  anybody  out  of 
the  window  who  calls  me  Mr.  Mulligan."  He  said  this,  and 
uttered  the  slogan  of  the  Mulligans  with  a  shriek  so  terrific, 
that  my  uncle  (the  Rev.  W.  Gruels,  of  the  Independent  Congre- 
gation, Bungay),  who  had  happened  to  address  him  in  the 
above  obnoxious  manner,  while  sitting  at  my  apartments  drink- 
ing tea  after  the  May  meetings,  instantly  quitted  the  room,  and 
has  never  taken  the  least  notice  of  me  since,  except  to  state  to 
the  rest  of  the  family  that  I  am  doomed  irrevocabl}''  to  perdition. 

Well,  one  day  last  season,  I  had  received  from  my  kind  and 
most  estimable  friend,  Mrs.  Perkins  of  Pocklington  Square 
(to  whose  amiable  family  I  have  had  the  honor  of  giving  les- 
sons in  drawing,  French,  and  the  German  flute),  an  invitation 
couched  in  the  usual  terms,  on  satin  gilt-edged  note-paper,  to 
her  evening-party  ;  or,  as  I  call  it,  "  Ball." 

Besides  the,  engraved  note  sent  to  all  her  friends,  my  kind 
patroness  had  addressed  me  privately  as  follows ; — 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL.  I^ 

"Mv  DEAR  Mr.  Ti'hMARSH, — If  you  know  any  very  eligible  young  man,  we  give  you 
leave  to  bring  him.  You  gentlemen  love  your  chibs  so  much  now,  and  care  so  little  for 
daticitigy  that  it  is  really  quite  a  scandal.  Come  early,  and  before  everybody,  and  give  us 
the  benefit  of  all  your  taste  and  continental  skill. 

"  Your  sincere 

"  Emily  Perkins." 

"Whom  shall  I  bring  ?"  mused  I,  highly  flattered  by  this 
mark  of  confidence  ;  and  I  thought  of  Bob  Trippett ;  and  little 
Fred  Spring,  of  the  Navy  Pay  Office  ;  Hulker,  who  is  rich,  and 
[  knew  took  lessons  in  Paris  ;  and  a  half  score  of  other  bachelor 
friends,  who  might  be  considered  as  very  eligible — when  I  was 
roused  from  my  meditation  by  a  slap  of  a  hand  on  my  shoulder  ] 
and  looking  up,  there  was  the  Mulligan,  who  began,  as  usual, 
reading  the  papers  on  my  desk. 

■'  Hwhat's  this  ?  "  says  he.  "  Who's  Perkins  ?  Is  it  a  sup 
per-ball,  or  only  a  tay-ball  ?  " 

"  The  Perkinses  of  Pocklington  Square,  Mulligan,  are  tip- 
top people,"  says  I,  with  a  tone  of  dignity.  "  Mr.  Perkins's 
sister  is  married  to  a  baronet,  Sir  Giles  Bacon,  of  Hogwash, 
Norfolk.  Mr.  Perkins's  uncle  was  Lord  Mayor  of  London; 
and  he  was  himself  in  Parliament,  and  may  be  again  any  day. 
The  family  are  my  most  particular  friends.  A  tay-ball  indeed', 
why,  Gunter  *  *  *  "  Here  I  stopped  :  I  felt  I  was  com- 
mitting myself. 

"Gunter!"  says  the  Mulligan,  with  another  confounded 
slap  on  the  shoulder.  Don't  say  another  word:  /'//go  widg 
you,  my  boy." 

"  You  go,  Mulligan  ?  "  says  I :  "  why,  really — I — it's  not  my 
party." 

"  Your  hwhawt  ?  hwhat's  this  letter  ?  ain't  I  an  eligible 
young  man? — Is  the  descendant  of  a  thousand  kings  unfit  com- 
pany for  a  miserable  tallow-chandthlering  cockney.-'  Are  ye 
joking  wid  me  ?  for,  let  me  tell  ye,  I  don't  like  them  jokes. 
D'ye  suppose  I'm  not  as  well  bawrun  and  bred  as  yourself,  or 
any  Saxon  friend  ye  ever  had  ?  " 

"  I  never  said  you  weren't.  Mulligan,"  says  I. 

"  Ye  don't  mean  seriously  that  a  Mulligan  is  not  fit  com- 
pany for  a  Perkins  ?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  how  could  you  think  I  could  so  far  insult 
you  ?  "  says  I.  "  Well  then,"  says  he,  "  that's  a  matter  settled, 
and  we  go." 

What  the  deuce  was  I  to  do?  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Perkinsj 
and  that  kind  lady  replied,  that  she  would  receive  the  Mulli- 
gan, or  any  other  of  my  friends,  with  the  greatest  cordiality. 
"  Fancy  a  party,  all  Mulligans  1  "  thought  I,  with  a  secret  terror. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  PERKINS,  THEIR  HOUSE, 
AND  THEIR   YOUNG  PEOPIE. 

Following  Mrs.  Perkins's  orders,  the  present  writer  made 
his  appearance  very  early  at  Pocklington  Square  :  where  the 
tastiness  of  all  the  decorations  elicited  my  warmest  admiration. 
Supper  of  course  was  in  the  dining-room,  superbly  arranged 
by  Messrs.  Grigs  and  Spooner,  the  confectioners  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. I  assisted  my  respected  friend  Mr.  Perkins  and  the 
butler  in  decanting  the  sherr}^,  and  saw,  not  without  satisfac- 
tion, a  large  bath  for  wine  under  the  sideboard,  in  which  were 
already  placed  very  many  bottles  of  champagne. 

The  Back  Dining-room,  Mr.  P.'s  study  (where  the  ven- 
erable man  goes  to  sleep  after  dinner),  was  arranged  on  this 
occasion  as  a  tea-room,  Mrs.  Flouncey  (Miss  Fanny's  maid) 
officiating  in  a  cap  and  pink  ribbons,  which  became  her  exceed- 
ingly. Long,  long  before  the  arrival  of  the  company,  I  remarked 
Master  Thomas  Perkins  and  Master  Giles  Bacon,  his  cousin 
(son  of  Sir  Giles  Bacon,  Bart.),  in  this  apartment,  busy  among 
the  macaroons. 

Mr.  Gregory  the  butler,  besides  John  the  footman  and  Sir 
Giles's  large  man  in  the  Bacon  livery,  and  honest  Grundsell, 
carpet-beater  and  green-grocer,  of  Little  Pocklington  Buildings^ 
had  at  least  half  a  dozen  of  aides-de-camp  in  black  with  white 
neckcloths,  like  doctors  of  divinity. 

The  Back  Drawing-room  door  on  the  landing  being  taken 
off  the  hinges  (and  placed  up  stairs  under  Mr.  Perkins's  bed), 
the  orifice  was  covered  with  muslin,  and  festooned  with  elegant 
wreaths  of  flowers.  This  was  the  Dancing  Saloon.  A  linett 
was  spread  over  the  carpet ;  and  a  band — consisting  of  Mr. 
Clapperton,  piano,  Mr.  Pinch,  harjD,  and  Herr  Spoff,  cornet-a- 
piston — arrived  at  a  pretty  early  hour,  and  were  accommodated 
with  some  comfortable  negus  in  the  tea-room,  previous  to  the 
commencement  of  their  delightful  labors.  The  boudoir  to  the 
left  was  fitted  up  as  a  card-room  ;  the  drawing-room  was  of 
course  for  the  reception  of  the  company,  —  the  chaiideliers 
and  yellow  damask  being  displayed  this  night  in  all  thei/ 
(14) 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


15 


splendor  ;  and  the  charming  conservatory  over  the  landing 
was  ornamented  by  a  few  moon-like  lamps,  and  the  flowers 
arranged  so  that  it  had  the  appearance  of  a  fairy  bower.  And 
Miss  Perkins  (as  I  took  the  liberty  of  stating  to  her  mamma) 
looked  like  the  fairy  of  that  bower.  It  is  this  young  creature's 
first  year  in  public  life :  she  has  been  educated,  regardless  of 
expense,  at  Hammersmith  ;  and  a  simple  white  muslin  dress 
and  blue  ceinture  set  off  charms  of  which  I  beg  to  speak  with 
respectful  admiration. 

My  distinguished  friend  the  Mulligan  of  Ballymulligan  was 
good  enough  to  come  the  very  first  of  the  party.  By  the  way, 
how  awkward  it  is  to  be  the  first  of  the  party  !  and  yet  you 
know  somebody  must ;  but  for  my  part,  being  timid,  I  always 
wait  at  the  corner  of  the  street  in  the  cab,  and  watch  until  some 
other  carriage  comes  up. 

Well,  as  we  were  arranging  the  sherry  in  the  decanters  down 
the  supper-tables,  my  friend  arrived  :  "  Hwhares  me  friend 
Mr.  Titmarsh  ? "  I  heard  him  bawHng  out  to  Gregory  in  the 
passage,  and  presently  he  rushed  into  the  supper-room,  where 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Perkins  and  myself  were,  and  as  the  waiter 
was  announcing  "  Mr.  Mulligan,"  "  THE  Mulligan  of  Bally- 
mulligan, ye  blackguard ! "  roared  he,  and  stalked  into  the 
apartment,  "  apologoizing,"  as  he  said,  for  introducing  himself, 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Perkins  did  not  perhaps  wish  to  be  seen  in 
this  room,  which  was  for  the  present  only  lighted  by  a  couple 
of  candles  ;  but  he  was  not  at  all  abashed  by  the  circumstance, 
and  grasping  them  both  warmly  by  the  hands,  he  instantly 
made  himself  at  home.  "  As  friends  of  my  dear  and  talented 
friend  Mick,"  so  he  is  pleased  to  call  me,  "  I'm  deloighted, 
madam,  to  be  made  known  to  ye.  Don't  consider  me  in  the 
light  of  a  mere  acquaintance  !  As  for  you,  my  dear  madam, 
you  put  me  so  much  in  moind  of  my  own  blessed  mother,  now 
resoiding  at  Ballymulligan  Castle,  that  I  begin  to  love  ye  at  first 
soight."  At  which  speech  Mr.  Perkins  getting  rather  alarmed, 
asked  the  Mulligan,  whether  he  would  take  some  wine,  or  go 
up  stairs. 

"  Fai.x,"  says  Mulligan,  "  it's  never  too  soon  forgood  dhrink." 
And  (although  he  smelt  very  much  of  whiskey  already)  he  drank 
a  tumbler  of  wine  "  to  the  improvement  of  an  acqueentence 
which  comminces  in  a  manner  so  deloightful." 

"  Let's  go  up  stairs.  Mulligan,"  says  I,  and  led  the  noble 
Irishman  to  the  upper  apartments,  which  were  in  a  profoup'' 
gloom,  the  candles  not  being  yet  illuminated,  and  wherp^ 
surprised    Miss   Fanny,   seated  in  the  twiligh*  at  the 


1 6  MRS.  PERA'/iVS'S  BALL. 

timidly  trying  the  tunes  of  the  polka  which  she  danced  so 
exquisitely  that  evening.  She  did  not  perceive  the  stranger 
at  first ;  but  how  she  started  when  the  Mulligan  loomed  upon 
her! 

♦'  Heavenlee  enchanthress  !  "  says  Mulligan,  "  don't  fioy  at 
the  approach  of  the  humblest  of  your  sleeves  !  Reshewm  your 
pleece  at  that  insthrument,  which  weeps  harmonious,  or  smoils 
melojious,  as  you  charrum  it !  Are  you  acqueented  with  the 
Oirish  Melodies  ?  Can  ye  play,  '  Who  fears  to  talk  of  Nointy- 
eight?'  the  'Shan  Van  Voght?'  or  the  'Dirge  of  011am 
Fodhlah  ? ' " 

"Who's  this  mad  chap  that  Titmarsh  has  brought?"  I 
heard  Master  Bacon  exclaim  to  Master  Perkins.  "  Look  !  how 
frightened  Fanny  looks  !  " 

"O  poo!  gals  are  always  frightened,"  Fanny's  brother 
replied  ;  but  Giles  Bacon,  more  violent,  said,  "  I'll  tell  you 
what,  Tom  :  if  this  goes  on,  we  must  pitch  into  him."  And 
so  I  have  no  doubt  they  would,  when  another  thundering 
knock  coming,  Gregory  rushed  into  the  room  and  began 
lighting  all  the  candles,  so  as  to  produce  an  amazing  brilliancy, 
Miss  Fanny  sprang  up  and  ran  to  her  mamma,  and  the  young 
gentlemen  slid  down  the  banisters  to  receive  the  company  in 
(he  hall. 


.0    /^J'^iiI-'-S^>^-:!^    ^f 


iiil|iiil;Nv 


THE  MULLIGAN  AND  MISS  FANXY  PERKINS. 


1  * 

f  i 

u 

What  name  shall  T  enounce  r" 

'Don't  hurrv  the  gentleman — don't  you  see  he  ain't  buttoned  Ws  strap  yet?' 
'  Say  Mr.  Fkederick  Minchin."     (This  is  spoken  with  much  uienitv.) 


EVERYBODY  BEGINS    TO    COME,  BUT 
ESPECIAL  L  Y  MR.  M INCH  IN. 

*'  It's  only  me  and  my  sisters,"  Master  Bacon  said  ;  though 
"only"  meant  eight  in  this  instance.  All  the  young  Ix'li'^s 
had  fresh  cheeks  and  purple  elbows  ;  all  had  white  frocks,  with 
hair  more  or  less  auburn  :  and  so  a  party  was  already  made  of 
this  blooming  and  numerous  family,  before  the  rest  of  the 
company  began  to  arrive.  The  three  Miss  Meggots  next  came 
in  their  fly  :  Mr.  Blades  and  his  niece  from  19  in  the  square  : 
Captain  and  Mrs.  Struther,  and  Miss  Struther  :  Doctor  Toddy's 
two  daughters  and  their  mamma :  but  where  were  the  gentle- 
men ?  The  Mulligan,  great  and  active  as  he  was,  could  not 
suffice  among  so  many  beauties.  At  last  came  a  brisk  neat 
little  knock,  and  looking  into  the  hall,  I  saw  a  gentleman 
taking  off  his  clogs  there,  whilst  Sir  Giles  Bacon's  big  footman 
was  looking  on  with  rather  a  contemptuous  air. 

"  What  name  shall  I  enounce  ? "  says  he,  with  a  wink  at 
Gregory  on  the  stair. 

The  gentleman  in  clogs  said,  with  quiet  dignity, — • 

MR.    FREDERICK    MINCHIN. 

"Pump  Court,  Temple,"  is  printed  on  his  cards  in  ver}' 
small  type  :  and  he  is  a  rising  barrister  of  the  Western  Circuit. 
He  is  to  be  found  at  home  of  mornings  :  afterwards  "  at  West- 
minster," as  you  read  on  his  back  door.  "  Binks  and  Minchin's 
Reports  "  are  probably  known  to  my  legal  friends :  this  is  the 
Minchin  in  question. 

He  is  decidedly  genteel,  and  is  rather  in  request  at  the 
balls  of  the  Judges'  and  Serjeants'  ladies  :  for  he  dances  irre- 
proachably, and  goes  out  to  dinner  as  much  as  ever  he  can. 

He  mostly  dines  at  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club,  of 
which  you  can  easily  see  by  his  appearance  that  he  is  a  mem- 
ber ;  he  takes  the  joint  and  his  half-pint  of  wine,  for  Minchin 
does  everything  like  a  gentleman.  He  is  rather  of  a  literary 
turn  ;  still  makes  Latin  verses  with  some  neatness  ;  and  before 
he  was  called,  he  was  remarkably  fond  of  the  flute. 

2  ('7) 


ig  MRS.   PERKINS'S  BALL. 

When  Mr.  Minchin  goes  out  in  the  evening,  his  clerk  !-»nng3 
his  bag  to  the  Club,  to  dress ;  and  if  it  is  at  all  muddy,  he 
turns  up  his  trousers,  so  that  he  may  come  in  without  a  speck. 
For  such  a  party  as  this,  he  will  have  new  gloves  ;  otherwise 
Frederick,  his  clerk,  is  chiefly  employed  in  cleaning  them  with 
India-rubber. 

He  has  a  number  of  pleasant  stories  about  the  Circuit  and 
the  University,  which  he  tells  with  a  simper  to  his  neighbor  at 
dinner;  and  has  always  the  last  joke  of  Mr.  Baron  Maule. 
He  has  a  private  fortune  of  five  thousand  pounds ;  he  is  a 
dutiful  son  ;  he  has  a  sister  married,  in  Harley  Street ;  and 
Lady  Jane  Ranville  has  the  best  opinion  of  him,  and  says 
he  is  a  most  excellent  and  highly  principled  young  man. 

Her  ladyship  and  daughter  arrived  just  as  Mr.  Minchin 
had  popped  his  clogs  into  the  umbrella-stand  ;  and  the  rank  of 
that  respected  person,  and  the  dignified  manner  in  which  he 
led  her  up  stairs,  caused  all  sneering  on  the  part  of  the  do- 
mestics to  disappear. 


THE  BALL-ROOM  DOOR, 


THE  BALL-ROOM  DOOR. 

A  HUNDRED  of  knocks  follow  Frederick  Minchin's:  in  half 
an  hour  Messrs.  Spoff,  Pinch,  and  Clapperton  have  begun  their 
music,  and  Mulligan,  with  one  of  the  Miss  Bacons,  is  dancing 
majestically  in  the  first  quadrille.  My  young  friends  Giles  and 
Tom  prefer  the  landing-place  to  the  drawing-rooms,  where 
they  stop  all  night,  robbing  the  refreshment-trays  as  they  come 
up  or  down.  Giles  has  eaten  fourteen  ices  :  he  will  have  a 
dreadful  stomach-ache  to-morrow.  Tom  has  eaten  twelve,  but 
he  has  had  four  more  glasses  of  negus  than  Giles.  Grundsell, 
the  occasional  waiter,  from  whom  Master  Tom  buys  quantities 
of  ginger-beer,  can  of  course  deny  him  nothing.  That  is 
Grundsell,  in  the  tights,  with  the  tray.  Meanwhile  direct  your 
attention  to  the  three  gentlemen  at  the  door  :  they  are  con- 
versing. 

\st  Gent. — Who's  the  man  of  the  house — the  bald  man  ? 

2d  Gent. — Of  course.  The  man  of  the  house  is  alwa)'^ 
bald.     He's  a  stockbroker,  I  believe.     Snooks  brought  me. 

\st  Gent. — Have  you  been  to  the  tea-room  ?  There's  a 
pretty  girl  in  the  tea-room  :  blue  eyes,  pink  ribbons,  that  kind 
of  thing. 

2d  Gent. — Who  the  deuce  is  that  girl  with  those  tre- 
mendous shoulders  ?  Gad  !  I  do  wish  somebody  would  smack 
'em. 

T,d  Gent. — Sir — that  young  lady  is  my  niece,  sir, — my  niece 
— my  name  is  Blades,  sir. 

2d  Gent. — Well,  Blades!  smack  your  niece's  shoulders: 
she  deserves  it,  begad  !  she  does.  Come  in.  Jinks,  present  me 
to  the  Perkinses. — Hullo  !  here's  an  old  country  acquaintance 
Lady  Bacon,  as  I  live  !  with  all  the  piglings  ;  she  never  goes 
out  without  the  whole  litter.    (Exeunt  istand  2d  Gents.) 

(19) 


LADY  BACON,  THE  MISS  BACONS,  MR.  FLAM. 

Lady  B. — Leonora  !  Maria  !  Amelia  !  here  is  the  gentleman 
we  met  at  Sir  John  Porkington's. 

\The  Misses  Bacon,  expecting  to  be  asked  to  dance,  smile  sirnidtaneously, 
and  begin  to  smooth  their  tucker s.^ 

Mr.  Flam. — Lady  Bacon  !  I  couldn't  be  mistaken  in  you  } 
Won't  you  dance,  Lady  Bacon  ? 

Lady  B. — Go  away,  you  droll  creature  ! 

Mr.  Flam. — And  these  are  your  ladyship's  seven  lovely 
sisters,  to  judge  from  their  likenesses  to  the  charming  Lady 
Bacon  ? 

Lady  B. — My  sisters,  he !  he  !  my  daughters,  Mr.  Flam,  and 
tliey  dance,  don't  you,  girls? 

The  Misses  Bacon. — O  yes  ! 

Mr.  Flam. — Gad  1  how  I  wish  I  was  a  dancing  man  ! 

{Exit  Flam. 
(la» 


'cri. 


LADY  BACON,  THE  MISS  BACONS.  AND  MR.  FLAM. 


--^•"^ 


MR.  LARKINS. 


MR.  LARKINS. 

I  Have  not  been  able  to  do  justice  (only  a  Lawrence  could 
do  that)  to  my  respected  friend  Mrs.  Perkins,  in  this  picture  ; 
but  Larkins's  portrait  is  considered  very  like.  Adolphus  Lar- 
kins  has  been  long  connected  with  Mr.  Perkins's  City  establish- 
ment, and  is  asked  to  dine  twice  or  thrice  per  annum.  Even- 
ing-parties are  the  great  enjoyment  of  this  simple  youth,  who, 
after  he  has  walked  from  Kentish  Town  to  Thames  Street, 
and  passed  twelve  hours  in  severe  labor  there,  and  walked 
back  again  to  Kentish  Town,  finds  no  greater  pleasure  than  to 
attire  his  lean  person  in  that  elegant  evening  costume  which 
you  see,  to  v/alk  into  town  again,  and  to  dance  at  anybody's 
house  who  will  invite  him.  Islington,  Pentonville,  Somers 
Town,  are  the  scenes  of  many  of  his  exploits  ;  and  I  have  seen 
this  good-natured  fellow  performing  figure  dances  at  Notting- 
hill,  at  a  house  where  I  am  ashamed  to  say  there  was  no  sup- 
per, no  negus  even  to  speak  of,  nothing  but  the  bare  merits  of 
the  polka  in  which  Adolphus  revels.  To  describe  this  gentle- 
man's infatuation  for  dancing,  let  me  say,  in  a  word,  that  he 
will  even  frequent  boarding-house  hops,  rather  than  not  go. 

He  has  clogs,  too,  like  Minchin  :  but  nobody  laughs  at  him. 
He  gives  himself  no  airs ;  but  walks  into  a  house  with  a  knock 
so  tremulous  and  humble,  that  the  servants  rather  patronize 
him.  He  does  not  speak,  or  have  any  particular  opinions,  but 
when  the  time  comes,  begins  to  dance.  He  bleats  out  a  word 
or  two  to  his  partner  during  this  operation,  seems  very  weak 
and  sad  during  the  whole  performance  ;  and,  of  course,  is  set  to 
dance  with  the  ugliest  women  everywhere. 

The  gentle,  kind  spirit !  when  I  think  of  him  night  after 
night,  hopping  and  jigging,  and  trudging  off  to  Kentish  Town, 
so  gently,  through  the  fogs,  and  mud,  and  darkness  :  I  do  not 
know  whether  I  ought  to  admire  him,  because  his  enjoyments 
are  so  simple,  and  his  dispositions  so  kindly  ;  or  laugh  at  him, 
because  he  draws  his  life  so  exquisitely  mild.  Well,  well,  we 
can't  be  all  roaring  lions  in  this  world  ;  there  must  be  somi 
lambs,  and  harmless,  kindly,  gregarious  creatures  for  eating 
and  shearing.  See  !  even  good-natured  Mrs.  Perkins  is  lead* 
ing  up  the  trembling  Larkins  to  the  tremendous  Miss  Bunioa 

2*  (2O 


MISS  BUNION. 

The  Poetess,  author  of  "  Heartstrings,"  "  The  Deadly 
Nightshade,"  "Passion  Flowers,"  &c.  Though  her  poems 
breathe  only  of  love.  Miss  B.  has  never  been  married.  She  is 
nearly  six  feet  high  ;  she  loves  waltzing  beyond  even  poesy  ; 
and  I  think  lobster-salad  as  much  as  either.  She  confesses  to 
twenty-eight ;  in  which  case  her  first  volume,  "  The  Orphan 
of  Gozo,"  (cut  up  by  Mr.  Rigby,  in  the  Quarterly,  with  his 
usual  kindness,)  must  have  been  published  when  she  was  three 
years  old. 

For  a  woman  all  soul,  she  certainly  eats  as  much  as  any 
woman  I  ever  saw.  The  sufferings  she  has  had  to  endure, 
are,  she  says,  beyond  compare  ;  the  poems  which  sl.e  writes 
breathe  a  withering  passion,  a  smouldering  despair,  an  agony 
of  spirit  that  would  melt  the  soul  of  a  drayman,  were  he  to  read 
them.  Well,  it  is  a  comfort  to  see  that  she  can  dance  of  nights, 
and  to  know  (for  the  habits  of  illustrious  literary  persons  are 
always  worth  knowing)  that  she  eats  a  hot  mutton-chop  for 
breakfast_  every  morning  of  her  blighted  existence. 

She  lives  in  a  boarding-house  at  Brompton,  and  comes  ta 
the  party  in  a  fly. 


MISS  BUNION. 


MR.  HICKS. 


MR.  HICKS. 

It  is  worth  twopence  to  see  Miss  Bunion  and  Poseidon 
Hicks,  the  great  poet,  conversing  with  one  another,  and  to  talk 
of  one  to  the  other  afterwards.  How  they  hate  each  other ! 
I  (in  my  wicked  way)  have  sent  Hicks  almost  raving  mad,  by 
praising  Bunion  to  him  in  confidence  ;  and  you  can  drive 
Bunion  out  of  the  room  by  a  few  judicious  panegyrics  of  Hicks. 

Hicks  first  burst  upon  the  astonished  world  with  poems,  in 
the  Byronic  manner:  "The  Death-Shriek,"  "The  Bastard  of 
Lara,"  "  The  Atabal,"  "  The  Fire-Ship  of  Botzaris,"  and  other 
works.  His  "  Love  Lays,"  in  Mr.  Moore's  early  style,  were  pro- 
nounced to  be  wonderful  precocious  for  a  young  gentleman 
then  only  thirteen,  and  in  a  commercial  academy,  at  Tooting. 

Subsequently,  this  great  bard  became  less  passionate  and 
more  thoughtful  ;  and,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  wrote  "  Idiosyn- 
cracy  "  (in  forty  books,  4to.)  :  "  Ararat,"  "  a  stupendous  epic," 
as  the  reviews  said  ;  and  "  The  Megatheria,"  "  a  magnificent 
contribution  to  our  pre-Adamite  literature,"  according  to  the 
same  authorities.  Not  having  read  these  works,  it  would  ill 
become  me  to  judge  them  ;  but  I  know  that  poor  Jingle,  the 
publisher,  always  attributed  his  insolvency  to  the  latter  epic, 
which  was  magnificently  printed  in  elephant  folio. 

Hicks  has  now  taken  a  classical  turn,  and  has  brought  out 
"  Poseidon,"  "  lacchus,"  "  Hephaestus,"  and  I  dare  say  is  going 
through  the  mythology.  But  I  should  not  like  to  try  him  at  a 
passage  of  the  Greek  Delectus,  and  more  than  twenty  thousand 
others  of  us  who  have  had  a  "  classical  education." 

Hicks  was  taken  in  an  inspired  attitude,  regarding  the 
chandelier,  and  pretending  he  didn't  know  that  Miss  Pettifer 
was  looking  at  him. 

Her  name  is  Anna  Maria  (daughter  of  Higgs  and  Pettifer, 
solicitors,  Bedford  Row)  ;  but  Hicks  calls  her  "  lanthe  "  in  his 
album  verses,  and  is  himself  an  eminent  drysalter  in  the  City. 

(23) 


MISS  MEGG07. 

Poor  Miss  Meggot  is  not  so  lucky  as  Miss  Bunion,  Nobody 
comes  to  dance  with  her,  though  she  has  a  new  frock  on,  as 
she  calls  it,  and  rather  a  pretty  foot,  which  she  always  manages 
to  stick  out. 

She  is  forty-seven,  the  youngest  of  three  sisters,  who  live  in 
a  mouldy  old  house,  near  Middlesex  Hospital,  where  they  have 
lived  for  I  don't  know  how  many  score  of  years  ;  but  this  is 
certain  :  the  eldest  Miss  Meggot  saw  the  Gordon  Riots  out  of 
that  same  parlor  window,  and  tells  the  stoiy  how  her  father 
(physician  of  George  III.')  was  robbed  of  his  queue  in  the 
streets  on  that  occasion.  The  two  old  ladies  have  taken  the 
brevet  rank,  and  are  addressed  as  Mrs.  Jane  and  Mrs,  Betsy ; 
one  of  them  is  at  whist  in  the  back  drawing-room.  But  the 
youngest  is  still  called  Miss  Nancy,  and  is  considered  quite  a 
baby  by  her  sisters. 

She  was  going  to  be  married  once  to  a  brave  young  officer, 
Ensign  Angus  Macquirk,  of  the  Whistlebinkie  Fencibles  ;  but 
he  fell  at  Quatre  Bras,  by  the  side  of  the  gallant  Snuffmull,  his 
commander.     Deeply,  deeply  did  Miss  Nancy  deplore  him. 

But  time  has  cicatrized  the  wounded  heart.  She  is  gay 
now,  and  would  sing  or  dance,  ay,  or  marry  if  anybody  asked 
her. 

Do  go,  my  dear  friend — I  don't  mean  to  ask  her  to  marrv' 
but  to  ask  her  to  dance. — Never  mind  the  looks  of  the  thin-^. 
It  will  make  her  happy  ;  and  what  does  it  cost  you  ?  Ah,  my 
dear  fellow  !  take  this  counsel :  always  dance  with  the  old 
ladies — always  dance  with  the  governesses.  It  is  a  comfort  to 
the  poor  things  when  they  get  up  in  their  garret  that  somebody 
has  had  mercy  on  them.  And  such  a  handsome  fellow  as  you 
tool 

(24) 


MISS  MEGGOr 


MISS  RANVILLE,  REV.  MR.  TOOP,  MfSS  MULLINS,  AND  MR.  WINTER. 


MISS  RANVILLE,   REV.   MR.    TO  OP, 
MISS  MULLINS,  MR.  WINTER. 

Mr.  W. — Miss  Mullins,  look  at  Miss  Ranville :  what  C 
picture  of  good-humor. 

Miss  M. — Oh,  you  satirical  creature  ! 

Mr.  IV. — Do  you  know  why  she  is  so  angry  ?  she  expected 
to  dance  with  Captain  Grig,  and  by  some  mistake,  the  Cam- 
bridge Professor  got  hold  of  her  :  isn't  he  a  handsome  man  ? 

Afiss  M. — Oh,  you  droll  wretch  ! 

Mr.  JV. — Yes,  he's  a  fellow  of  college  —  fellows  mayn't 
marry,  Miss  Mullins — poor  fellows,  ay,  Miss  Mullins  ? 

Miss  M. — La  ! 

Afr.  JV. — And  Professor  of  Phlebotomy  in  the  University. 
He  flatters  himself  he  is  a  man  of  the  world,  Miss  Mullins, 
and  always  dances  in  the  long  vacation. 

Miss  M. — You  malicious,  wicked  monster  ! 

Mr.  W. — Do  you  know  Lady  Jane  Ranville  ?  Miss  Ran' 
ville's  mamma.  A  ball  once  a  year ;  footmen  in  canary-colored 
livery ;  Baker  Street ;  six  dinners  in  the  season  ;  starves  all 
the  year  round  ;  pride  and  poverty,  you  know ;  I've  been  to 
her  ball  once.  Ranville  Ranville's  her  brother ;  and  between 
you  and  me — but  this,  dear  Miss  Mullins,  is  a  profound  secret, 
—I  think  he's  a  greater  fool  than  his  sister. 

Miss  M. — Oh,  you  satirical,  droll,  malicious,  wicked  thing 
you ! 

Mr.  W. — You  do  me  injustice,  Miss  Mullins,  indeed 
you  do. 

[Chatne  Anglaise^ 

(as) 


MISS  yOY,  MR.  AND  MRS.  JOY,  MR.  B OTTER. 

Mr.  B. — What  spirits  that  girl  has,  Mr.  Joy  ? 

Mr.  y. — She's  a  sunshine  in  a  house,  Botter,  a  regulai 
sunshine.     When  Mrs.  J.  here's  in  a  bad  humor,  i      *      *      * 

Mrs.  y. — Don't  talk  nonsense,  Mr.  Joy. 

Air.  B. — There's  a  hop,  skip,  and  jump  for  you  1  Why,  it 
beats  EUsler !  Upon  my  conscience  it  does  !  It's  her  four- 
teenth quadrille  too.  There  she  goes  !  She's  a  jewel  of  a  girl, 
though  I  say  it  that  shouldn't. 

Mrs.  y.  (laughing) — Why  don't  you  marry  her,  Botter  ? 
Shall  I  speak  to  her  1  I  dare  say  she'd  have  you.  You're  not 
so  very  old. 

Mr.  B. — Don't  aggravate  me,  Mrs.  J.  You  know  when  I 
lost  my  heart  in  the  year  1817,  at  the  opening  of  Waterloo 
Bridge,  to  a  young  lady  who  wouldn't  have  me,  and  left  me  to 
die  in  despair,  and  married  Joy,  of  the  Stock  Exchange. 

Mrs.  y. — Get  away,  you  foolish  old  creature. 

[Mr.  Joy /(7(7^j  on  in  ecstasies  at  Mis!?  Joy's  agility.     Lady  Jane  Ranville,  ^ 
Baker  Street,,  pronounces  her  to  be  an  exceedingly  forward  person.     Captain 
DoBBS  likes  a  girl  -who  has  plenty  of  go  in  her  ;  and  as/or  Fred  Sparks,  he  it 
over  luad  and  ears  in  love  with  her.  ] 
(a6) 


MISS  JOY,  MR.  AND  MRS.  JOY,  MR.  BOTTESt 


MR.  RANVILLE  RANVILLE  AND  JACK  HUBBARD 


MR.  RANVILLE  RANVILLE  AND 
JACK  HUBBARD. 

This  is  Miss  Ranville  Ranville's  brother,  Mr.  Ranville  Ran- 
ville,  of  the  Foreign  Office,  faithfully  designed  as  he  was  play^ 
ing  at  whist  in  the  card-room.  Talleyrand  used  to  play  at  whist 
at  the  "  Travellers',"  that  is  why  Ranville  Ranville  indulges  in 
that  diplomatic  recreation.  It  is  not  his  fault  if  he  be  not  the 
greatest  man  in  the  room. 

If  you  speak  to  him,  he  smiles  sternly,  and  answers  in  mon- 
osyllables ;  he  would  rather  die  than  commit  himself.  He 
never  has  committed  himself  in  his  life.  He  was  the  first  at 
school,  and  distinguished  at  Oxford.  He  is  growing  prema- 
turely bald  now,  like  Canning,  and  is  quite  proud  of  it.  He 
rides  in  St.  James  Park  of  a  morning  before  breakfast.  He 
dockets  his  tailor's  bills,  and  nicks  off  his  dinner-notes  in  dip- 
lomatic paragraphs,  and  keeps  precis  of  them  all.  If  he  ever 
makes  a  joke,  it  is  a  quotation  from  Horace,  like  Sir  Robert 
Peel.  The  only  relaxation  he  permits  himself,  is  to  read 
Thucydides  in  the  holidays. 

Everybody  asks  him  out  to  dinner,  on  account  of  his  brass 
buttons  with  the  Queen's  cipher,  and  to  have  the  air  of  being 
well  with  the  Foreign  Office.  "  Where  I  dine,"  he  says  sol- 
emnly, "  I  think  it  is  my  duty  to  go  to  evening-parties."  That 
is  why  he  is  here.  He  never  dances,  never  sups,  never  drinks. 
He  has  gruel  when  he  goes  home  to  bed.  I  think  it  is  in  his 
brains. 

He  is  such  an  ass  and  so  respectable,  that  one  wonders  he 
has  not  succeeded  in  the  world  ;  and  yet  somehow  they  laugh 
at  him  ;  and  you  and  I  shall  be  Ministers  as  soon  as  he  will. 

Yonder,  making  believe  to  look  over  the  print-books,  is  that 
merry  rogue,  Jack  Hubbard. 

See  how  jovial  he  looks  !  He  is  the  life  and  soul  of  every 
party,  and  his  impromptu  singing  after  supper  will  make  you 
die  of  laughing.  He  is  meditating  an  impromptu  now,  and  at 
the  same  time  thinking  about  a  bill  that  is  coming  due  next 
Thursday.     Happy  dog  ! 

(27) 


MI^S.  TROTTER,  MISS  TROTTER,  MISS 
TOADY,  LORD  METHUSELAH. 

Dear  Emma  Trotter  has  been  silent  and  rather  ill-humored 
all  the  evening  until  now  her  pretty  face  lights  up  with  smiles. 
Cannot  you  guess  why?  Pity  the  simple  and  affectionate 
creature  !  Lord  Methuselah  has  not  arrived  until  this  moment  ; 
and  see  how  the  artless  girl  steps  forward  to  greet  him  1 

In  the  midst  of  all  the  selfishness  and  turmoil  of  the  world, 
how  charming  it  is  to  find  virgin  hearts  quite  unsullied,  and  to 
look  on  at  little  romantic  pictures  of  mutual  love  1  Lord  Me- 
thuselah, though  you  know  his  age  by  the  peerage — though  he 
is  old,  wigged,  gouty,  rouged,  wicked,  has  lighted  up  a  pure 
flame  in  that  gentle  bosom.  There  was  a  talk  about  Tom  Wil- 
loughby  last  year;  and  then,  for  a  time,  young  Hawbuck  (Sir 
John  Hawbuck's  youngest  son)  seemed  the  favored  man  ;  but 
Emma  never  knew  her  mind  until  she  met  the  dear  creature 
before  you  in  a  Rhine  steamboat.  "Why  are  you  so  late, 
Edward  ?  "  says  she.     Dear  artless  child  ! 

Her  mother  looks  on  with  tender  satisfaction.  One  can 
appreciate  the  joys  of  such  an  admirable  parent  ! 

"Look  at  theml"  says  Miss  Toady.  "  I  vow  and  protest 
they're  the  handsomest  couple  in  the  room!" 

Methuselah's  grandchildren  are  rather  jealous  and  angry, 
and  Mademoiselle  Ariane,  of  the  French  theatre,  is  furious. 
But  there's  no  accounting  for  the  mercenary  envy  of  some 
people  ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  satisfy  everybody. 


MRS.  TROTTER^  MISS  TROTTER,  MISS  TOADY,  LORD  METHUSELAI;. 


MR.  BEAUMORIS,  MR.  GRIG,  MR.  FLINDERS,, 


MR,  BEAUMORIS,  MR.   GRIG,  MR.  FLYNDERS, 

Those  three  young  men  are  described  in  a  twinkling :  Cap- 
tain Grig  of  the  Heavies  ;  Mr.  Beaumoris,  the  handsome  young 
man  ;  Tom  Flinders  (Flynders  Flynders  he  now  calls  himself), 
the  fat  gentleman  who  dresses  after  Beaumoris. 

Beaumoris  is  in  the  Treasury  :  he  has  a  salary  of  eighty 
pounds  a  year,  on  which  he  maintains  the  best  cab  and  horses 
of  the  season  ;  and  out  of  which  he  pays  seventy  guineas  merely 
for  his  subscriptions  to  clubs.  He  hunts  in  Leicestershire, 
where  great  men  mount  him  ;  he  is  a  prodigious  favorite  behind 
the  scenes  at  the  theatres  ;  you  may  get  glimpses  of  him  at 
Richmond,  with  all  sorts  of  pink  bonnets ;  and  he  is  the  sworn 
friend  of  half  the  most  famous  roues  about  town,  such  as  Old 
Methuselah,  Lord  Billygoat,  Lord  Tarquin,  and  the  rest :  a  re- 
spectable race.  It  is  to  oblige  the  foriner  that  the  good-natured 
young  fellow  is  here  to-night ;  though  it  must  not  be  imagined 
that  he  gives  himself  any  airs  of  superiority.  Dandy  as  he  is, 
he  is  quite  affable,  and  would  borrow  ten  guineas  from  any  man 
in  the  room,  in  the  most  jovial  way  possible. 

It  is  neither  Beau's  birth,  which  is  doubtful ;  nor  his  money, 
which  is  entirely  negative ;  nor  his  honesty,  which  goes  along 
with  his  money-qualification ;  nor  his  wit,  for  he  can  barely 
spell, — which  recommend  him  to  the  fashionable  world :  but  a 
sort  of  Grand  Seigneur  splendor  and  dandified  je  ne  sais 
quoi,  which  make  the  man  he  is  of  him.  The  way  in  which  his 
boots  and  gloves  fit  him  is  a  wonder  which  no  other  man  can 
achieve  :  and  though  he  has  not  an  atom  of  principle,  it  must 
be  confessed  that  he  invented  the  Taglioni  shirt. 

When  I  see  these  magnificent  dandies  yawning  out  of 
"  White's,"  or  caracoling  in  the  Park  on  shining  charges,  I  like 
to  think  that  Brummell  was  the  greatest  of  them  all,  and  that 
Brummell's  father  was  a  footman. 

Flynders  is   Beaumoris's  toady :   lends  him  money :   buys 

3  ^"^^ 


30 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


horses  through  his  recommendation  ;  dresses  after  him  :  clings 
to  him  in  Pall  Mall,  and  on  the  steps  of  the  club  ;  and  talks 
about  '  Bo  '  in  all  societies.  It  is  his  drag  which  carries  down 
Bo's  friends  to  the  Derby,  and  his  check  pays  for  dinners  to 
the  pink  bonnets.  I  don't  believe  the  Perkinses  know  what  a 
rogue  he  is,  but  fancy  him  a  decent,  reputable  City  man,  like  his 
father  before  him. 

As  for  Captain  Grig,  what  is  there  to  tell  about  him  ?  He 
performs  the  duties  of  his  calling  with  perfect  gravity.  He  is 
faultless  on  parade ;  excellent  across  country ;  amiable  when 
drunk,  rather  slow  when  sober.  He  has  not  two  ideas,  and 
is  a  most  good-natured,  irreproachable,  gallant,  and  stupid 
young  officer. 


CAVALIER   SEUL. 


CAVALIER    SEUL. 

This  is  my  friend  Bob  Hely,  performing  the  Cavalier  seul 
in  a  quadrille.  Remark  the  good-humored  pleasure  depicted 
in  his  countenance.  Has  he  any  secret  grief  ?  Has  he  a  pain 
anywhere  ?  No,  dear  Miss  Jones,  he  is  dancing  like  a  true 
Briton,  and  with  all  the  charming  gayety  and  abandon  of  our 
race. 

When  Canaillard  performs  that  Cavalier  seul  operation, 
does  he  flinch  ?  No  :  he  puts  on  his  most  vainqueiir  look,  he 
sticks  his  thumbs  into  the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  and  ad- 
vances, retreats,  pirouettes,  and  otherwise  gambadoes,  as  though 
to  say,  "  Regarde  moi,  O  monde  !  Venez,  O  femmes,  venez  voir 
danser  Canaillard !  " 

When  De  Bobwitz  executes  the  same  measure,  he  does  it 
with  smiling  agility,  and  graceful  ease. 

But  poor  Hely,  if  he  were  advancing  to  a  dentist,  his  face 
would  not  be  more  cheerful.  All  the  eyes  of  the  room  are 
upon  him,  he  thinks  ;  and  he  thinks  he  looks  like  a  fool. 

Upon  my  word,  if  you  press  the  point  with  me,  clear  Miss 
Jones,  I  think  he  is  not  very  far  from  right.  I  think  that  while 
Frenchman  and  Germans  may  dance,  as  it  is  their  nature  to  do, 
there  is  a  natural  dignity  about  us  Britons,  which  debars  us 
from  that  enjoyment.  I  am  rather  of  the  Turkish  opinion,  that 
this  should  be  done  for  us.     I  think     *     *     * 

"  Good-by,  you  envious  old  fox-and-the-grapes,"  says  Miss 
Jones,  and  the  next  moment  I  see  her  whirling  by  in  a  polka 
with  Tom  Tozer,  at  a  pace  which  makes  me  shrink  back  with 
terror  into  the  little  boudoir. 

(3«) 


M.  CANAILLARD,  CHEVALIER  OF  TMB, 
LEGION  OF  HONOR. 

LIEUTENANT  FARON  DE  BOBWITZ. 

Canaillard, — Oh,  ces  Anglais !  quels  hommes,  mon  Dieu  I 
Comme  ils  sont  habilles,  comme  ils  dan  sent ! 

Bobivitz. — Ce  sont  de  beaux  hommes  bourtant ',  point  de 
tenue  militaire,  mais  de  grands  gaillards  ;■  si  je  les  avais  dans 
ma  compagnie  de  la  Garde,  j'en  ferai  de  bons  soldats. 

CanaWard. — Est-il  bete,  cet  Allemand  !  Les  grands  hommes 
ne  font  pas  toujours  de  bons  soldats,  Monsieur.  II  me  semble 
que  les  soldats  de  France  qui  sont  de  ma  taille,  Monsieur, 
valent  un  peu  mieux  *  * 

Bobivitz. — Vous  croyez  ? 

Canaillard. — Comment!  je  le  crois,  Monsieur?  J'en  suis 
siir !     II  me  semble,  Monsieur,  que  nous  I'avons  prouvd 

Bobivitz  {impatiefitly). — Je  m'en  vais  danser  la  Bolka.  Ser- 
vil^ur,  Monsieur. 

Canaillard. — Butor  1     (He  goes  and  looks  at  himself  in  the 
glass,  when  he  is  seized  by  Mrs.  Perkins  for  the  Polka.) 
(3a) 


M.  CANAILLARD,  LIEUTENANT  BARON  DE  BOBWITZ. 


"^•HE  BOUDOIR — MR.   SMITH,  MR.  liROWN,  MISS  I3USTLETON 


'iJf&  BOUDOIR, 
^h    SMITH,  MR    BROWN  MISS  BUSTLE  TON. 

Mf  Brawn. — Vou  polk,  Miss  Bustleton  ?    I'm  j:<?delalghted 
Mis^  Bustleton, — [Smiks  and  prepares  to  rise.] 
Mt.  Smt/A.'-'D—  —  puppy. 

(I'oor  Smith  don^t  polk^ 

3*  '^ 


GRAND  POLKA. 

Though  a  quadrille  seems  to  me  as  dreary  as  a  tuneral,  yet 
to  look  at  a  polka,  I  own,  is  pleasant.  See  !  Brown  and  Emily 
Bustleton  are  whirling  round  as  light  as  two  pigeons  over  a 
dovecot ;  Tozer,  with  that  wicked  whisking  little  Jones,  spins 
along  as  merrily  as  a  May-day  sweep  ;  Miss  Joy  is  the  partner 
of  the  happy  Fred  Sparks ;  and  even  Miss  Ranville  is  pleased, 
for  the  faultless  Captain  Grig  is  toe  and  heel  with  her.  Beau- 
moris,  with  rather  a  nonchalant  air,  takes  a  turn  with  Miss 
Trotter,  at  which  Lord  Methuselah's  wrinkled  chops  quiver  un- 
easily. See !  how  the  big  Baron  de  Bobwitz  spins  lightly,  and 
gravely,  and  gracefully  round ;  and  lo  !  the  Frenchman  stagger- 
ing under  the  weight  of  Miss  Bunion,  who  tramps  and  kicks 
like  a  young  cart-horse. 

But  the  most  awful  sight  which  met  my  view  in  this  dance 
was  the  unfortunate  Miss  Little,  to  whom  fate  had  assigned 
The  Mulligan  as  a  partner.  Like  a  pavid  kid  in  the  talons 
of  an  eagle,  that  young  creature  trembled  in  his  huge  Milesian 
grasp.  Disdaining  the  recognized  form  of  the  dance,  the  Irish 
chieftain  accommodated  the  music  to  the  dance  of  his  own 
green  land,  and  performed  a  double  shuffle  jig,  carrying  Miss 
Little  along  with  him.  Miss  Ranville  and  her  Captain  shrank 
back  amazed ;  Miss  Trotter  skirried  out  of  his  way  into  the 
protection  of  the  astonished  Lord  Methuselah  ;  Fred  Sparks 
could  hardly  move  for  laughing ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  Miss 
Joy  was  quite  in  pain  for  poor  Sophy  Little.  As  Canaillard 
and  the  Poetess  came  up.  The  Mulligan,  in  the  height  of  his 
enthusiasm,  lunged  out  a  kick  which  sent  Miss  Bunion  howl- 
ing ;  and  concluded  with  a  tremendous  Hurroo  ! — a  war-cry 
which  caused  every  Saxon  heart  to  shudder  and  quail. 

*'  Oh  that  the  earth  would  open  and  kindly  take  me  in  I "  I 
exclaimed  mentally  -,  and  slunk  off  into  the  lower  regions,  whera 
by  this  time  half  the  company  were  at  supper. 
(34} 


GEORGE  GRUNDSELL. 


THE  SUPPER. 

The  supper  is  going  on  behind  the  screen.  There  is  no 
need  to  draw  the  supper.  We  all  know  that  sort  of  transaction  : 
the  squabbling,  and  gobbling,  and  popping  of  champagne  j  the 
smell  of  musk  and  lobster-salad  ;  the  dowagers  chumping  away 
at  plates  of  raised  pie  :  the  young  lassies  nibbling  at  little  tit- 
bits, which  the  dexterous  young  gentlemen  procure.  Three 
large  men,  like  doctors  of  divinity,  wait  behind  the  table,  and 
furnish  everything  that  appetite  can  ask  for.  I  never,  for  my 
part,  can  eat  any  supper  for  wondering  at  those  men.  I  believe 
if  you  were  to  ask  them  for  mashed  turnips,  or  a  slice  of  croco- 
dile, those  astonishing  people  would  serve  you.  What  a  con- 
tempt they  must  have  for  the  guttling  crowd  to  whom  they 
minister — those  solemn  pastry-cook's  men  !  How  they  must 
hate  jellies,  and  game-pies  and  champagne,  in  their  hearts  ! 
How  they  must  scorn  my  poor  friend  Grundsell  behind  the 
screen,  who  is  sucking  at  a  bottle  ! 


GEORGE    GRUNDSELL, 

GREEN-GROCER     AND     SALESMAN, 

9  LITTLE  POCKLINGTON   BUILDINGS, 

Late   Confidential  Servant  in   the  Fatnily  of 

THE     LORD    MAYOR     OF     LONDON 


I^^Carpets  Beat. — Knives  and  Boots  cleaned  per  contract. — Errands  faithfully 
performed. — G.  G.  attends  Ball  and  Dinner  parties,  and  from  his  knowledge 
of  the  most  distinguished  Families  in  London,  confidently  recommends  his 
services  to  the  distinguished  neighborhood  of  Pocklington  Square. 


This  disguised  green-grocer  is  a  very  well-known  character 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Pocklington  Square.     He  waits  at  the 

(3S> 


36 


MJ?S.  PERA'INS'S  BALL. 


parties  of  the  gentry  in  the  neighborhood,  and  though,  ot 
course,  despised  in  famiUes  where  a  footman  is  kept,  is  a  person 
of  much  importance  in  female  establishments. 

Miss  Jonas  always  employs  him  at  her  parties,  and  says  to 
her  page,  "Vincent,  send  the  butler,  or  send  Desborough  to 
me  j "  by  which  name  she  chooses  to  designate  G.  G. 

When  the  Miss  Frumps  have  post-horses  to  their  carriage, 
and  pay  visits,  Grundsell  always  goes  behind.  Those  ladies 
have  the  greatest  confidence  in  him,  have  been  godmothers  to 
fourteen  of  his  children,  and  leave  their  house  in  his  charge 
when  they  go  to  Bognor  for  the  summer.  He  attended  those 
ladies  when  they  were  presented  at  the  last  drawing-room  of 
her  Majesty  Queen  Charlotte. 

Mr.  Grundsell's  state  costume  is  a  blue  coat  and  copper 
buttons,  a  white  waistcoat,  and  an  immense  frill  and  shirt-collar. 
He  was  for  many  years  a  private  watchman,  and  once  can- 
vassed for  the  office  of  parish  clerk  of  St.  Peter's,  Pockiilngion. 
He  can  be  intrusted  with  untold  spoons  ;  with  anything,  in  fact, 
but  liquor ;  and  it  was  he  who  brought  round  the  cards  fox 
Mrs.  Perkins's  Ball. 


\\-^^J' 


m 


/  — 

MISS  MARTIN  AND  YOUNG  WARU 


AFTER  SUPPER. 

I  DO  not  intend  to  say  any  more  about  it.  After  the  people 
had  supped,  they  went  back  and  danced.  Some  supped  again. 
I  gave  Miss  Bunion,  with  my  own  hands,  iovc:  bumpers  of 
cliampagne  :  and  sucli  a  quantity  of  goose-liver  and  truffles, 
that  I  don't  wonder  she  took  a  glass  of  cherry-brandy  after- 
wards. The  gray  morning  was  in  Pocklington  Square  as  she 
drove  away  in  her  fly.  So  did  the  other  people  go  away.  How 
green  and  sallow  some  of  the  girls  looked,  and  how  awfully 
clear  Mrs.  Colonel  Bludyer's  rouge  was  !  Lady  Jane  Ranville's 
great  coach  had  roared  away  down  the  streets  long  before. 
Fred  Minchin  pattered  off  in  his  clogs :  it  was  I  who  covered 
up  Miss  Meggot,  and  conducted  her,  with  her  two  old  sisters,  to 
the  carriage.  Good  old  souls  !  They  have  shown  their  grati- 
tude by  asking  me  to  tea  next  Tuesday.  Methuselah  is  gone 
to  finish  the  night  at  the  Club.  "Mind  to-morrow,"  Miss 
Trotter  says,  kissing  her  hand  out  of  the  carriage.  Canaillard 
departs,  asking  the  way  to  "Lesterre  Squar."  They  all  go 
away — life  goes  away. 

Look  at  Miss  Martin  and  young  Ward  1  How  tenderly  the 
rogue  is  wrapping  her  up  !  how  kindly  she  looks  at  him  !  The 
old  folks  are  whispering  behind  as  they  wait  for  their  carriage. 
What  is  their  talk,  think  you  ?  and  when  shall  that  pair  make 
a  match?  When  you  see  those  pretty  little  creatures  with  their 
smiles  and  their  blushes,  and  their  pretty  ways,  would  you  like 
to  be  the  Grand  Bashaw  ? 

"  Mind  and  send  me  a  large  piece  of  cake,"  I  go  up  and 
whisper  archly  to  old  Mr.  Ward  :  and  we  look  on  rather  senti- 
mentally at  the  couple,  almost  the  last  in  the  rooms  (there,  I 
declare,  go  the  musicians,  and  the  clock  is  at  five) — when 
Grundsell,  with  an  air  effare,  rushes  up  to  me  and  says,  "  For 
'e'v'n  sake,  sir,  go  into  the  supper-room :  there's  that  Hirish 
gent  a-pitchin'  into  Mr.  P." 

<37) 


THE  MULLIGAN  AND  MR.  PERKINS. 

It  was  too  true.  I  had  taken  him  away  after  supper  (he  ran 
after  Miss  Little's  carriage,  who  was  dying  in  love  with  him  as 
he  fancied),  but  the  brute  had  come  back  again.  The  doctors 
of  divinity  were  putting  up  their  condiments :  everybody  was 
gone  ;  but  the  abominable  Mulligan  sat  swinging  his  legs  at  the 
lonely  supper-table  ! 

Perkins  was  opposite,  gasping  at  him. 

The  Mulligan. — I  tell  ye,  ye  are  the  butler,  ye  big  fat  man. 
Go  get  me  some  more  champagne ;  it's  good  at  this  house. 

Mr,  Perkins  {with  dignity).  —  It  is  good  at  this  house ; 
but 

The  Mulligan. — But  hwhat,  ye  goggling,  bow-windowed 
jackass?  Go  get  the  wine,  and  we'll  dthrink  it  together,  my 
old  buck. 

Mr.  Perkins. — My  name,  sir,  is  Perkins. 

The  Mulligan. — Well,  that  rhymes  with  jerkins,  my  man  of 
firkins  ;  so  don't  let  us  have  any  more  shirkings  and  lurkings, 
Mr.  Perkins. 

Mr.  Perkins  (jvith  apoplectic  energy), — Sir,  I  am  the  master 
of  this  house  ;  and  I  order  you  to  quit  it.  I'll  not  be  insulted, 
sir.  I'll  send  for  a  policeman,  sir.  What  do  you  mean,  Mr. 
Titmarsh,  sir,  by  bringing  this — this  beast  into  my  house,  sir  ? 

At  this,  with  a  scream  like  that  of  a  Hyrcanian  tiger,  Mulli- 
gan of  the  hundred  battles  sprang  forward  at  his  prey  ;  but  we 
were  beforehand  with  him.  Mr.  Gregory,  Mr.  Grundsell,  Sir 
Giles  Bacon's  large  man,  the  young  gentlemen,  and  myself, 
rushed  simultaneously  upon  the  tipsy  chieftain,  and  confined 
him.  The  doctors  of  divinity  looked  on  with  perfect  indiffer- 
ence. That  Mr,  Perkins  did  not  go  off  in  a  fit  is  a  wonder. 
He  was  led  away  heaving  and  snorting  frightfully. 

Somebody  smashed  Mulligan's  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  I  led 

him  forth  into  the  silent  morning.     The  chirrup  of  the  birds, 

the  freshness  of  the  rosy  air,  and  a  penn'orth  of  coffee  that  I 

got  for  him  at  a  stall  in  the  Regent  Circus,  revived  him  some- 

(38) 


THE  MULLIGAN  AND  MR.   PERKINS 


MRS.  PERKINS'S  BALL. 


39 


what.  When  I  quitted  him,  he  was  not  angry  but  sad.  He 
was  desirous,  it  is  true,  of  avenging  the  wrongs  of  Erin  in 
battle  line  ;  he  wished  also  to  share  the  grave  of  Sarsfield  and 
Hugh  O'Neill ;  but  he  was  sure  that  Miss  Perkins,  as  well  as 
Miss  Little,  was  desperately  in  love  with  him  j  and  I  left  him 
on  a  doorstep  in  tears. 

"  Is  it  best  to  be  laughing-mad,  or  crying-mad,  in  the  world  ?  * 
says  I  moodily,  coming  into  my  street.  Betsy  the  maid  was 
already  up  and  at  work,  on  her  knees,  scouring  the  steps,  and 
cheerfully  beginning  her  honest  daily  labor. 


THE  EMD   OF   MRS.    PERKINS'S    BALL, 


OUR    STREET. 


Bv  Mr.  M.  a.  TITMARSH. 


OUR    STREET 


Our  Street,  from  the  little  nook  which  I  occupy  in  it,  and 
whence  I  and  a  fellow-lodger  and  friend  of  mine  cynically  ob- 
serve it,  presents  a  strange  motley  scene.  We  are  in  a  state  of 
transition.  We  are  not  as  yet  in  the  town,  and  we  have  left  the 
country,  where  we  were  when  I  came  to  lodge  with  Mrs. 
Cammysole,  my  excellent  landlady.  I  then  took  second-floor 
apartments  at  No.  17  Waddilove  Street,  and  since,  although  I 
have  never  moved  (having  various  little  comforts  about  me),  I 
find  myself  living  at  No.  46A  Pocklington  Gardens. 

Why  is  this  ?  Why  am  I  to  pay  eighteen  shillings  instead 
of  fifteen  ?  I  was  quite  as  happy  in  Waddilove  Street ;  but  the 
fact  is,  a  great  portion  of  that  venerable  old  district  has  passed 
away,  and  we  are  being  absorbed  into  the  splendid  new  white- 
stuccoed  Doric  porticoed  genteel  Pocklington  quarter.  Sir 
Thomas  Gibbs  Pocklington,  M.  P.  for  the  borough  of  Lathan- 
plaster,  is  the  founder  of  the  district  and  his  own  fortune.  The 
Pocklington  Estate  Office  is  in  the  Square,  on  a  line  with  Wad- 
dil — with  Pocklington  Gardens  I  mean.  The  old  inn,  the 
"  Ram  and  Magpie,"  where  the  market-gardeners  used  to  bait, 
came  out  this  year  with  a  new  white  face  and  title,  the  shield, 
&c.,  of  the  Pocklington  Arms."  Such  a  shield  it  is  !  Such 
quarterings  !  Howard,  Cavendish,  DeRos,  De  la  Zouche,  all 
mingled  together. 

Even  our  house,  46A,  which  Mrs.  Cammysole  has  had 
painted  white  in  compliment  to  the  Gardens  of  which  it  now 
forms  part,  is  a  sort  of  impostor,  and  has  no  business  to  be 
called  Gardens  at  all.  Mr.  Gibbs,  Sir  Thomas's  agent  and 
nephew  is  furious  at  our  daring  to  take  the  title  which  belongs 

A  (43) 


44 


Ol/R  STREET. 


to  our  betters.  The  very  next  door  (No.  46,  the  Honorable 
Mrs.  Mountnodd}',)  is  a  house  of  five  storeys,  shooting  up 
proudly  into  the  air,  thirty  feet  above  our  old  high-roofed  low- 
roomed  old  tenement.  Our  house  belongs  to  Captain  Bragg, 
not  only  the  landlord  but  the  son-in-law  of  Mrs.  Cammysole, 
who  lives  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  down  the  street,  at  "The 
Bungalow."  He  was  the  commander  of  the  "  Ram  Chunder  " 
East  Indiaman,  and  has  quarrelled  with  the  Pocklingtons  ever 
since  he  bought  houses  in  the  parish. 

He  it  is  who  will  not  sell  or  alter  his  houses  to  suit  the 
spirit  of  the  times.  He  it  is  who,  though  he  made  the  widow 
Cammysole  change  the  name  of  her  street,  will  not  pull  down 
the  house  next  door,  nor  the  baker's  next,  nor  the  iron-bedstead 
and  feather  warehouse  ensuing,  nor  the  little  barber's  with  the 
pole,  nor,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  the  tripe-shop,  still  standing. 
The  barber  powders  the  heads  of  the  great  footmen  from  Pock- 
lington  Gardens  ;  they  are  so  big  that  they  can  scarcely  sit  in 
his  little  premises.  And  the  old  tavern,  the  "  East  Indiaman," 
is  kept  by  Bragg's  ship-steward,  and  protests  against  the 
*'  Pocklington  Arms." 

Down  the  road  is  Pocklington  Chapel,  Rev.  Oldham  Slocum 
— in  brick,  with  arched  windows  and  a  wooden  belfry  :  sober, 
dingy,  and  hideous.  In  the  centre  of  Pocklington  Gardens 
rises  St.  Waltheof's,  the  Rev.  Cyril  Thuryfer  and  assistants — ■ 
a  splendid  Anglo-Norman  edifice,  vast,  rich,  elaborate,  bran 
new,  and  intensely  old.  Down  Avemary  Lane  you  may  hear  the 
clink  of  the  little  Romish  chapel  bell.  And  hard  by  is  a  large 
broad-shouldered  Ebenezer  (Rev.  Jonas  Gronow),  out  of  the 
windows  of  which  the  hymns  come  booming  all  Sunday  long. 

Going  westward  along  the  line,  we  come  presently  to  Com- 
andine  House  (on  a  part  of  the  gardens  of  which  Comandine 
Gardens  is  about  to  be  erected  by  his  lordship)  ;  farther  on, 
"  The  Pineries,"  Mr.  and  Lady  Mary  Mango  :  and  so  we  get 
into  the  country,  and  out  of  Our  Street  altogether,  as  I  may 
say.  But  in  the  half  mile,  over  which  it  may  be  said  to  extend, 
we  find  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people — from  the  Right 
Honorable  Lord  Comandine  down  to  the  present  topographer ; 
who  being  of  no  rank  as  it  were,  has  the  fortune  to  be  treated 
on  almost  friendly  footing  by  all,  from  his  lordship  down  to  the 
tradesman. 


OUR  HOUSE  IN  OUR  STREET. 

We  must  begin  our  little  descriptions  where  they  say  charity 
should  begin  —  at  home.  Mrs.  Cammysole,  my  landlady,  will 
be  rather  surprised  when  she  reads  this,  and  finds  that  a  good- 
natured  tenant,  who  has  never  complained  of  her  impositions 
for  fifteen  years,  understands  every  one  of  her  tricks,  and 
treats  them,  not  with  anger,  but  with  scorn — with  silent  scorn. 

On  the  i8th  of  December,  1837,  for  instance,  coming  gently 
down  stairs,  and  before  my  usual  wont,  I  saw  you  seated  in  my 
arm-chair,  peeping  into  a  letter  that  came  from  my  aunt  in  the 
country,  just  as  if  it  had  been  addressed  to  you,  and  not  to 
"  M.  A.  Titmarsh,  Esq."  Did  I  make  any  disturbance  ?  far 
from  it ;  I  slunk  back  to  my  bedroom,  (being  enabled  to  walk 
silently  in  the  beautiful  pair  of  worsted  slippers  Miss  Penelope 

J s  worked  for  me  :  they  are  worn  out  now,  dear  Penelope  !) 

and  then  rattling  open  the  door  with  a  great  noise,  descended 
the  stairs,  singing  "  Son  vergin  vezzosa  "  at  the  top  of  my  voice. 
You  were  not  in  my  sitting-room,  Mrs.  Cammysole,  when  I 
entered  that  apartment. 

You  have  been  reading  all  my  letters,  papers,  manuscripts, 
brouillons  of  verses,  inchoate  articles  for  the  Morning  Post  and 
Morning  Chro7iide,  invitations  to  dinner  and  tea — all  my  family 
letters,  all  Eliza  Townley's  letters,  from  the  first,  in  which  she 
declared  that  to  be  the  bride  of  her  beloved  Michelagnolo  was 
the  fondest  wish  of  her  maiden  heart,  to  the  last,  in  which  she 
announced  that  her  Thomas  was  the  best  of  husbands,  and 
signed  herself  "  Eliza  Slogger ; "  all  Mary  Farmer's  letters,  all 
Emily  Delamere's ;  all  that  poor  foolish  old  Miss  MacWhirter's, 

whom  I  would  as  soon  marry  as :  in  a  word,  I  know  that 

you,  you  hawk-beaked,  keen-eyed,  sleepless,  indefatigable  old 
Mrs.  Cammysole,  have  read  all  my  papers  for  these  fifteen 
years. 

I  know  that  you  cast  your  curious  old  eyes  over  all  the 
manuscripts  which  you-  find  in  my  coat-pockets  and  those  of 
my  pantaloons,  as  they  hang  in  a  drapery  over  the  door-handle 
of  my  bedroom. 

I  know  that  you  count  the  money  in  my  green  and  gold 

4  (45) 


46  OUR  STREET. 

purse,  which  Lucy  Netterville  gave  me,  and  speculate  on  the 
manner  in  which  I  have  laid  out  the  difference  between  to-day 
and  yesterday. 

I  Icnow  that  j^ou  have  an  understanding  with  the  laundress 
(to  whom  you  say  that  you  are  all-powerful  with  me),  threaten- 
ing to  take  away  my  practice  from  her,  unless  she  gets  up 
gratis  some  of  your  fine  linen, 

I  know  that  we  both  have  a  pennyworth  of  cream  for  break 
fast,  which  is  brought  in  in  the  same  little  can ;  and  I  know 
who  has  the  most  for  her  share. 

I  know  how  many  lumps  of  sugar  you  take  from  each  pound 
as  it  arrives.  I  have  counted  the  lumps,  you  old  thief,  and  for 
years  have  never  said  a  word,  except  to  Miss  Clapperclaw,  the 
first-floor  lodger.  Once  I  put  a  bottle  of  pale  brandy  into  that 
cupboard,  of  which  you  and  I  only  have  keys,  and  the  liquor 
wasted  and  wasted  away  until  it  was  all  gone.  You  drank  the 
whole  of  it,  you  wicked  old  woman.     You  a  lady,  indeed  ! 

I  know  your  rage  when  they  did  me  the  honor  to  elect  me  a 
member  of  the  "  Poluphloisboiothalasses  Club,"  and  I  ceased 
consequently  to  dine  at  home.  When  I  ^/^dine  at  home, — on 
a  beefsteak  let  us  say, — I  should  like  to  know  what  you  had 
for  supper.  You  first  amputated  portions  of  the  meat  when 
raw  ;  you  abstracted  more  when  cooked.  Do  you  think  /was 
taken  in  by  your  flimsy  pretences  ?  I  wonder  how  you  could 
dare  to  do  such  things  before  your  maids  (you  a  clergyman's 
daughter  and  widow,  indeed  !),  whom  you  yourself  were  always 
charging  with  roguery. 

Yes,  the  insolence  of  the  old  woman  is  unbearable,  and  I 
must  break  out  at  last.  If  she  goes  off  in  a  fit  at  reading  this, 
I  am  sure  I  sha'n't  mind.  She  has  two  unhappy  wenches, 
against  whom  her  old  tongue  is  clacking  from  morning  till 
night:  she  pounces  on  them  at  all  hours.  It  was  but  this 
morning  at  eight,  when  poor  Molly  was  brooming  the  steps, 
and  the  baker  paying  her  by  no  means  unmerited  compliments, 
that  my  landlady  came  whirling  out  of  the  ground-floor  front, 
and  sent  the  poor  girl  whimpering  into  the  kitchen. 

Were  it  but  for  her  conduct  to  her  maids  I  was  determined 
publicly  to  denounce  her.  These  poor  wretches  she  causes  to 
lead  the  lives  of  demons;  and  not  content  with  bullying  them 
all  day,  she  sleeps  at  night  in  the  same  room  with  them,  so 
that  she  may  have  them  up  before  daybreak,  and  scold  them 
tvhile  they  are  dressing. 

Certain  it  is,  that  between  her  and  Miss  Clapperclaw,  on 
the  lirst  floor,  the  poor  wenches  lead  a  dismal  life.     My  dear 


^^^^pii:l-4'; 


A  STREET  COURTSHIP. 


Baker. — How  them  curl-papers  do  become  you,  Miss  Mollv 
Miss  Molly. — Get  'long  now,  Baker,  do. 


OUR  STREET. 


47 


Miss  Clapperclaw,  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me  for  having  placed 
you  in  the  title-page  of  my  little  book,  looking  out  of  your 
accustomed  window,  and  having  your  eye-glasses  ready  to  spy 
the  whole  street,  which  you  know  better  than  any  inhabitant 
of  it. 

It  is  to  you  that  I  owe  most  of  my  knowledge  of  our  neigh- 
bors ;  from  you  it  is  that  most  of  the  facts  and  observations 
contained  in  these  brief  pages  are  taken.  Many  a  night,  ovei 
our  tea,  have  we  talked  amiably  about  our  neighbors  and  their 
little  failings  ;  and  as  I  know  that  you  speak  of  mine  pretty 
freely,  why,  let  me  say,  my  dear  Bessy,  that  if  we  have  not 
built  up  Our  Street  between  us,  at  least  we  have  pulled  it  to 
pieces. 


THE  BUNGALOW— CAPTAIN  AND  MRS,  BRAGG. 

Long,  long  ago,  when  Our  Street  was  the  country — a  stage- 
coach between  us  and  London  passing  four  times  a  day — I  do 
uot  care  to  own  that  it  was  a  sight  of  Flora  Cammysole's  face, 
under  the  card  of  her  mamma's  "Lodgings  to  Let,"  which  first 
caused  me  to  become  a  tenant  of  Our  Street.  A  fine  good- 
humored  lass  she  was  then  ;  and  I  gave  her  lessons  (part  out 
of  the  rent)  in  French  and  flower-painting.  She  has  made  a 
fine  rich  marriage  since,  although  her  eyes  have  often  seemed 
to  me  to  say,  "Ah,  Mr.  T.,  why  didn't  you,  when  there  was 
yet  time,  and  we  both  of  us  were  free,  propose — you  know 
what  ?  "     "  Psha !     Where  was  the  money,  my  dear  madam  ?  " 

Captain  Bragg,  then  occupied  in  building  Bungalow  Lodge 
— Bragg,  I  say,  living  on  the  first  floor,  and  entertaining  sea- 
captains,  merchants,  and  East  Indian  friends  with  his  grand 
ship's  plate,  being  disappointed  in  a  project  of  marrying  a  di- 
rector's daughter,  who  was  also  a  second  cousin  once  removed 
of  a  peer, — sent  in  a  fury  for  Mrs.  Cammysole,  his  landlady, 
and  proposed  to  marry  Flora  off-hand,  and  settle  four  hundred 
a  year  upon  her.  Flora  was  ordered  from  the  back  parlor  (the 
ground-flpor  occupies  the  second-floor  bedroom),  and  was  on 
the  spot  made  acquainted  with  the  splendid  offer  which  the 
the  first-floor  had  made  her.  She  has  been  Mrs.  Captain  Bragg 
these  twelve  years. 

You  see  her  portrait,  and  that  of  the  brute  her  husband,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  page. 

Bragg  to  this  day  wears  anchor-buttons,  and  has  a  dress- 
coat  with  a  gold  strap  for  epaulets,  in  case  he  should  have  a 
fancy  to  sport  them.  His  house  is  covered  with  portraits, 
busts,  and  miniatures  of  himself.  His  wife  is  made  to  wear 
one  of  the  latter.  On  his  sideboard  are  pieces  of  plate,  pre- 
sented by  the  passengers  of  the  "  Ram  Chunder  *'  to  Captain 
Bragg:  "The  'Ram  Chunder'  East  Indiaman,  in  a  gale,  off 
Table  Bay ; "  "  The  Outward-bound  Fleet,  under  convoy  of 
her  Majesty's  frigate  '  Loblollyboy,'  Captain  Gutch,  beating  off 
the  French  squadron,  under  Commodore  Leloup  (the  '  Ram 
Chunder,'  S.E.  by  E.,  is  represented  engaged  with  the  '  Mirliton  ' 
corvette)  ;"  "  The  '  Ram  Chunder  '  standing  into  the  Hooghly, 
with  Captain  Bragg,  his  telescope  and  speaking-trumpet,  on 
the  poop  ; "  "  Captain  Bragg  presenting  the  Officers  of  the 
*  Ram  Chunder '  to  General  Bonaparte  at  St.  Helena — Tit- 
MAR5II  "  (this  fine  piece  was  painted  by  me  when  I  was  in  favor 


CAPTAIN  AND  MRS.  BRAGG  OF  OUR  STREET. 

4* 


OUR  STREET.  49 

with  Bragg)  ;  in  a  word,  Bragg  and  the  "  Ram  Chunder  "  are 
all  over  the  house. 

Although  I  have  eaten  scores  of  dinners  at  Captain  Bragg's 
charge,  yet  his  hospitality  is  so  insolent,  that  none  of  us  who 
frequent  his  mahogany  feel  any  obligation  to  our  braggart  en- 
tertainer. 

After  he  has  given  one  of  his  great  heavy  dinners  he  always 
takes  an  opportunity  to  tell  you,  in  the  most  public  way,  how 
many  bottles  of  wine  were  drunk.  His  pleasure  is  to  make 
his  guests  tipsy,  and  to  tell  everybody  how  and  when  the  period 
of  inebriation  arose.  And  Miss  Clapperclaw  tells  me  that  he 
often  comes  over  laughing  and  giggling  to  her,  and  pretending 
that  he  has  brought  me  into  this  condition — a  calumny  which 
I  fling  contemptuously  in  his  face. 

He  scarcely  gives  any  but  men's  parties,  and  invites  the 
whole  club  home  to  dinner.  What  is  the  compliment  of  being 
asked,  when  the  whole  club  is  asked  too,  I  should  like  to  know  ? 
Men's  parties  are  only  good  for  boys.  I  hate  a  dinner  where 
there  are  no  women.  Bragg  sits  at  the  head  of  his  table,  and 
bullies  the  solitary  Mrs.  Bragg. 

He  entertains  us  with  stories  of  storms  which  he,  Bragg,  en- 
countered— of  dinners  which  he,  Bragg,  has  received  from  the 
Governor-General  of  India  —  of  jokes  which  he,  Bragg,  has 
heard  ;  and  however  stale  or  odious  they  may  be,  poor  Mrs.  B. 
is  always  expected  to  laugh. 

Woe  be  to  her  if  she  doesn't,  or  if  she  laughs  at  anybody 
else's  jokes.  I  have  seen  Bragg  go  up  to  her  and  squeeze  her 
arm  with  a  savage  grind  of  his  teeth,  and  say,  with  an  oath, 
"  Hang  it,  madam,  how  dare  you  laugh  when  any  man  but  your 
husband  speaks  to  you  ?  I  forbid  you  to  grin  in  that  Avay.  I 
forbid  you  to  look  sulky.  I  forbid  you  to  look  happy,  or  to 
look  up,  or  to  keep  your  eyes  down  to  the  ground.  I  desire 
you  will  not  be  trapezing  through  the  rooms.  I  order  you  not 
to  sit  as  still  as  a  stone."  He  curses  her  if  the  wine  is  corked, 
or  if  the  dinner  is  spoiled,  or  if  she  comes  a  minute  too  soon  tc 
the  club  for  him,  or  arrives  a  minute  too  late.  He  forbids  her 
to  walk,  except  upon  his  arm.  And  the  consequence  of  his  ill- 
treatment  is,  that  Mrs.  Cammysole  and  Mrs.  Bragg  respect  hinj 
beyond  measure,  and  think  him  the  first  of  human  beings. 

"  I  never  knew  a  woman  who  was  constantly  bullied  by  her 
husband  who  did  not  like  him  the  better  for  it,"  Miss  Clapper- 
claw says.  And  though  this  speech  has  some  of  Clapp's  usual 
sardonic  humor  in  it,  I  can't  but  think  there  is  some  truth  in 
the  remark. 


LEVANT  HOUSE  CHAMBERS. 
MR.  RUMBOLD,  A.  R.  A.,  AND  MISS  RUMBOLD. 

When  Lord  Levant  quitted  the  country  and  this  neighbor^ 
hood,  in  Vsrhich  the  tradesmen  still  deplore  him,  No.  56,  known 
as  Levantine  House,  was  let  to  the  "Pococurante  Club,"  which 
was  speedily  bankrupt  (for  we  are  too  far  from  the  centre  of 
town  to  support  a  club  of  our  own)  ;  it  was  subsequently  hired 
by  the  West  Diddlesex  Railroad  ;  and  is  now  divided  into  sets 
of  chambers,  superintended  by  an  acrimonious  housekeeper, 
and  by  a  porter  in  a  sham  livery :  whom,  if  you  don't  find  him 
at  the  door,  you  may  as  well  seek  at  the  "  Grapes  "  public- 
house,  in  the  little  lane  round  the  corner.  He  varnishes  the 
japan-boots  of  the  dandy  lodgers  ;  reads  Mr.  Pinkney's  Morn- 
ing Post  before  he  lets  him  have  it ;  and  neglects  the  letters  of 
the  inmates  of  the  chambers  generally. 

The  great  rooms,  which  were  occupied  as  the  salons  of  the 
noble  Levant,  the  coffee-rooms  of  the  "Pococurante"  (a  club 
where  the  play  was  furious,  as  I  am  told),  and  the  board  room 
and  manager's  room  of  the  West  Diddlesex,  are  tenanted  now 
by  a  couple  of  artists :  young  Pinkney  the  miniaturist,  and 
George  Rumbold  the  historical  painter.  Miss  Rumbold,  his 
sister,  lives  with  him,  by  the  way  ;  but  with  that  young  lady  of 
course  we  have  nothing  to  do. 

I  knew  both  these  gentlemen  at  Rome,  where  George  wore 
a  velvet  doublet  and  a  beard  down  to  his  chest,  and  used  to 
talk  about  high  art  at  the  "  Cafe  Greco."  How  it  smelled  of 
smoke,  that  velveteen  doublet  of  his,  with  which  his  stringy 
red  beard  was  likewise  perfumed  !  It  was  in  his  studio  that  I 
had  the  honor  to  be  introduced  to  his  sister,  the  fair  Miss 
Clara :  she  had  a  large  casque  with  a  red  horse-hair  plume  (I 
thought  it  had  been  a  wisp  of  her  brothers's  beard  at  first), 
and  held  a  tin-headed  spear  in  her  hand,  representing  a  Roman 
warrior  in  the  great  picture  of  "  Caractacus "  George  was 
painting — a  piece  sixty -four  feet  by  eighteen.  The  Roman 
warrior  blushed  to  be  discovered  in  that  attitude :  the  tin- 
headed  spear  trembled  in  the  whitest  arm  in  the  world.  So 
she  put  it  down,  and  taking  off  the  helmet  also,  went  and  sat 
(so) 


A   STUDIO  IN  OUR  STRKET. 


OUR  STREET. 


s« 


in  a  far  corner  of  the  studio,  mending  George's  stockings  | 
whilst  we  smoked  a  couple  of  pipes,  and  talked  about  Raphael 
being  a  good  deal  overrated. 

I  think  he  is  ;  and  have  never  disguised  my  opinion  about 
the  '  Transfiguration."  And  all  the  time  we  talked,  there  were 
Clara's  eyes  looking  lucidly  out  from  the  dark  corner  in  which 
she  was  sitting,  working  away  at  the  stockings.  The  lucky 
fellow  !  They  were  in  a  dreadful  state  of  bad  repair  when  she 
came  out  to  him  at  Rome,  after  the  death  of  their  father,  the 
Reverend  Miles  Rumbold. 

George,  while  at  Rome,  painted  "  Caractacus ; "  a  picture 
of  "  Non  Angli  sed  Angeli  "  of  course  ;  a  picture  of  '"  Alfred  in 
the  Neatherd's  Cottage,"  seventy-two  feet  by  forty-eight  (an  idea 
of  the  gigantic  size  and  Michel-Angelesque  proportions  of  this 
picture  may  be  formed,  when  I  state  that  the  mere  muffin,  of 
which  the  outcast  king  is  spoiling  the  baking,  is  two  feet  three 
in  diameter)  ;  and  the  deaths  of  Socrates,  of  Remus,  and  of  the 
Christians  under  Nero  respectively.  I  shall  never  forget  how 
lovely  Clara  looked  in  white  muslin,  with  her  hair  down,  in  this 
latter  picture,  giving  herself  up  to  a  ferocious  Carnifex  (for 
which  Bob  Gaunter  the  architect  sat),  and  refusing  to  listen  to 
the  mild  suggestions  of  an  insinuating  Flamen  :  which  character 
was  a  gross  caricature  of  myself. 

None  of  George's  pictures  sold.  He  has  enough  to  tapestry 
Trafalgar  Square.  He  has  painted,  since  he  came  back  to 
England,  "  The  Flaying  of  Marsyas,"  "  The  Smothering  of  the 
Little  Boys  in  the  Tower,"  "  A  Plague  Scene  during  the  Great 
Pestilence,"  "  Ugolino  on  the  Seventh  Day  after  he  was  dc' 
prived  of  Victuals,"  &c.  For  although  these  pictures  have 
great  merit,  and  the  writhings  of  Marsyas,  the  convulsions  of 
the  little  jDrince,  the  look  of  agony  of  St.  Lawrence  on  the  grid- 
iron, &c.,  are  quite  true  to  nature,  yet  the  subjects  somehow 
are  not  agreeable  ;  and  if  he  hadn't  a  small  patrimony,  my 
friend  George  would  starve. 

Fondness  for  art  leads  me  a  great  deal  to  his  studio.  George 
is  a  gentleman,  and  has  very  good  friends,  and  good  pluck  too. 
When  we  were  at  Rome,  there  was  a  great  row  between  him  and 
young  Heeltap,  Lord  Boxmoor's  son,  who  was  uncivil  to  Miss 
Rumbold  (the  young  scoundrel — had  I  been  a  fighting  man,  I 
should  like  to  have  shot  him  myself !).  Lady  Betty  Bulbul  is 
very  fond  of  Clara  ;  and  Tom  Bulbul,  who  took  George's  mes- 
sage to  Heeltap,  is  always  hanging  about  the  studio.  At  least 
I  know  that  I  find  the  young  jackanapes  there  almost  every 
day,  bringing  a  new   novel,  or  some  poisonous  French  poetry. 


52 


OUR  STREET. 


or  a  basket  of  flowers,  or  grapes,  with  Lady  Betty's  love  to  her 
dear  Clara — a  young  rascal  with  white  kids,  and  his  hair  curled 
every  morning.  What  business  has  he  to  be  dangling  about 
George  Rumbold's  premises,  and  sticking  up  his  ugly  pug-face 
as  a  model  for  all  George's  pictures  ? 

Miss  Clapperclaw  says  Bulbul  is  evidently  smitten,  and  Clara 
too.  What !  would  she  put  up  with  such  a  little  fribble  as  that, 
when  there  is  a  man  of  intellect  and  taste  who — but  I  wou't 
believe  it.     It  is  all  the  jealousy  of  women. 


SOME  OK  oi;r  gentlemen 


SOME   OF  THE  SERVANTS  IN  OUR  STREET. 

These  gentlemen  have  two  clubs  in  our  quarter — for  the 
butlers  at  the  "  Indiaman,"  and  for  the  gents  in  livery  at  the 
"Pocklington  Arms  " — of  either  of  which  societies  I  should  like 
to  be  a  member.  I  am  sure  they  could  not  be  so  dull  as  our 
club  at  the  "  Poluphloisboio,"  where  one  meets  the  same  neat, 
clean,  respectable  old  fogies  every  day. 

But  with  the  best  wishes,  it  is  imiDOssible  for  the  present 
writer  to  join  either  the  "  Plate  Club  "  or  the  "  Uniform  Club  " 
(as  these  reunions  are  designated) ;  for  one  could  not  shake 
hands  with  a  friend  who  was  standing  behind  your  chair,  or  nod 
a  How-d'ye-do  ?  to  the  butler  who  was  pouring  you  out  a  glass 
of  wine ; — so  that  what  I  know  about  the  guests  in  our  neigh- 
borhood is  from  mere  casual  observation.  For  instance,  I  have 
a  slight  acquaintance  with  (i)  Thomas  Spavin,  who  commonly 
wears  the  above  air  of  injured  innocence,  and  is  groom  to  Mr. 
Joseph  Green,  of  Our  Street.  "/  tell  why  the  brougham  'oss 
is  out  of  condition,  and  why  Desperation  broke  out  all  in  a 
lather!  'Osses  will,  this  'eavy  weather;  and  Desperation  was 
always  the  most  mystest  hoss  I  ever  see. — /take  him  out  with 
Mr.  Anderson's  'ounds — I'm  above  it.  I  allis  was  too  timid  to 
ride  to  'ounds  by  natur ;  and  Colonel  Sprigs'  groom  as  says  he 
saw  me,  is  a  liar,"  &c.,  &c. 

Such  is  the  tenor  of  Mr.  Spavin's  remarks  to  his  master. 
Whereas  all  the  world  in  Our  Street  knows  that  Mr.  Spavin 
spends  at  least  a  hundred  a  year  in  beer ;  that  he  keeps  a 
betting-book ;  that  he  has  lent  Mr.  Green's  black  brougham 
horse  to  the  omnibus  driver ;  and,  at  a  time  when  Mr.  G.  sup- 
posed him  at  the  veterinary  surgeon's,  has  lent  him  to  a  livery 
stable,  which  has  let  him  out  to  that  gentleman  himself,  and 
actually  driven  him  to  dinner  behind  his  own  horse. 

This  conduct  I  can  understand,  but  I  cannot  excuse — Mr. 
Spavin  may ;  and  I  leave  the  matter  to  be  settled  betwixt  him- 
self and  Mr.  Green. 

The  second  is  Monsieur  SInbad,  Mr.  Clarence  Bulbul's  man, 
whom  we  all  hate  Clarence  for  keeping. 

Mr.  Sinbad  is  a  foreigner,  speaking  no  known  language,  but 
a  mixture  of  every  European  dialect — so  that  he  may  be  an 
Italian  brigand,  or  a  Tyrolese  minstrel,  or  a  Spanish  smug- 
gler, for  what  we  know.  I  have  heard  say  that  he  is  neither  of 
these,  but  an  Irish  Jew. 

He   wears  studs,  hair-oil,    jewelry,    and  linen  shirt-fronts, 

(53) 


54 


OUR  STREET. 


very  finely  embroidered,  but  not  particular  for  whiteness.  Ht 
generally  appears  in  faded  velvet  waistcoats  of  a  morning,  and 
is  always  perfumed  with  stale  tobacco.  He  wears  large  rings 
on  his  hands,  which  look  as  If  he  kept  them  up  the  chimney. 

He  does  not  appear  to  do  anything  earthly  for  Clarence 
Bulbul,  excej^t  to  smoke  his  cigars,  and  to  practise  on  his  guitar. 
He  will  not  answer  a  bell,  nor  fetch  a  glass  of  water,  nor  go  of 
an  errand :  on  which,  au  reste,  Clarence  dares  not  send  him, 
being  entirely  afraid  of  his  servant,  and  not  daring  to  use  him, 
Di  to  abuse  him,  or  to  send  him  away. 

3  A-dams — Mr.  Champignon's  man — a  good  old  man  in  an 
old  liver)'  coat  with  old  worsted  lace — so  very  old,  deaf,  surly, 
and  faithful,  that  you  wonder  how  he  should  have  got  into  the 
family  at  all ;  who  never  kept  a  footman  till  last  year,  when 
they  came  into  the  street. 

Miss  Clapperclaw  says  she  believes  Adams  to  be  Mrs. 
Champignon's  father,  and  he  certainly  has  a  look  of  that  lady ; 
as  Miss  C.  pointed  out  to  me  at  dinner  one  night,  whilst  old 
Adams  was  blundering  about  amongst  the  hired  men  from 
Gunter's,  and  falling  over  the  silver  dishes. 

4.  Fipps,  the  buttoniest  page  in  all  the  street :  walks  be- 
hind Mrs.  Grimsby  with  her  prayer-book,  and  protects  her. 

"  If  that  woman  wants  a  protector  "  (a  female  acquaint- 
ance remarks),  "  heaven  be  good  to  us  !  She  is  as  big  as  an 
ogress,  and  has  an  upper  lip  which  many  a  cornet  of  the  Life- 
guards might  envy.  Her  poor  dear  husband  was  a  big  man, 
and  she  could  beat  him  easily  ;  and  did  too.  Mrs.  Grimsby 
indeed  !  Why,  my  dear  Mr.  Titmarsh,  it  is  Glumdalca  M-alking 
with  Tom  Thumb." 

This  observation  of  Miss  C.'s  is  very  true,  and  Mrs.  Grimsby 
might  carry  her  prayer-book  to  church  herself.  But  Miss  Clap 
perclaw,  who  is  pretty  well  able  to  take  care  of  herself  too,  was 
glad  enough  to  have  the  protection  of  the  page  when  she  went 
out  in  the  fly  to  pay  visits,  and  before  Mrs.  Grimsby  and  she 
quarrelled  at  whist  at  Lady  Pocklington's. 

After  this  merely  parenthetic  observation,  we  come  to  5, 
one  of  her  ladyship's  large  men,  Mr.  Jeames — a  gentleman  of 
vast  stature  and  proportions,  who  is  almost  nose  to  nose  with 
us  as  we  pass  her  ladyship's  door  on  the  outside  of  the  omni- 
bus. I  think  Jeames  has  a  contempt  for  a  man  whom  he  wit- 
nesses in  that  position.  I  have  fancied  something  like  that 
feeling  showed  itself  (as  far  as  it  may  in  a  well-bred  gentleman 
accustomed  to  society)  in  his  behavior,  while  waiting  behind 
my  chair  at  dmner. 


;hy  our  nursemaids  like  Kensington  gardens. 


OUR  STREET. 


55 


But  I  take  Jeames  to  be,  like  most  giants,  good-natured, 
lazy,  stupid,  soft-hearted,  and  extremely  fond  of  drink.  One 
night,  his  lady  being  engaged  to  dinner  at  Nightingale  House, 
I  saw  Mr.  Jeames  resting  himself  on  a  bench  at  the  "  Pockling- 
ton  Arms  :  "  where,  as  he  had  no  liquor  before  him,  he  had 
probably  exhausted  his  credit. 

Little  Spitfire,  Mr.  Clarence  Bulbul's  boy,  the  wickedest 
little  varlet  that  ever  hung  on  to  a  cab,  was  "chaffing"  Mr. 
Jeames,  holding  up  to  his  face  a  pot  of  porter  almost  as  big 
as  the  young  pyotifer  himself. 

"  Vill  you  now,  Big'un,  or  von't  you  ?  "  Spitfire  said.  "  If 
you're  thirsty,  vy  don't  you  say  so  and  squench  it,  old  boy  ?  " 

"  Don't  ago  on  making  fun  of  me — I  can't  abear  chaffin','' 
was  the  reply  of  Mr,  Jeames,  and  tears  actually  stood  in  his 
fine  eyes  as  he  looked  at  the  porter  and  the  screeching  little 
imp  before  him. 

Spitfire  (real  name  unknown)  gave  him  some  of  the  drink  : 
I  am  happy  to  say  Jeames's  face  wore  quite  a  different  look 
when  it  rose  gasping  out  of  the  porter ;  and  I  judge  of  his  dis- 
position from  the  above  trivial  incident. 

The  last  boy  in  the  sketch,  6,  need  scarcely  be  particularized. 
Doctor's  boy  ;  was  a  charity-boy  ;  stripes  evidently  added  on 
to  a  pair  of  the  doctor's  clothes  of  last  year — Miss  Clapper- 
claw pointed  this  out  to  me  with  a  giggle.  Nothing  escapes 
that  old  woman. 

As  we  were  walking  in  Kensington  Gardens,  she  pointed 
me  out  Mrs.  Bragg's  nursery-maid,  who  sings  so  loud  at  church, 
engaged  with  a  Lifeguardsman,  whom  she  was  trying  to  con 
vert  probably.     My  virtuous  friend  rose  indignant  at  the  sight. 

"  That's  why  these  minxes  like  Kensington  Gardens,"  she 
cried.  "  Look  at  the  woman  :  she  leaves  the  baby  on  the  grass, 
for  the  giant  to  trample  upon  ;  and  that  little  wretch  of  a  Hast- 
ings Bragg  is  riding  on  the  monster's  cane." 

Miss  C.  flew  up  and  seized  the  infant,  waking  it  out  of  its 
sleep,  and  causing  all  the  gardens  to  echo  with  its  squalling. 
"  I'll  teach  you  to  be  impudent  to  me,"  she  said  to  the  nursery- 
maid, with  whom  my  vivacious  old  friend,  I  suppose,  has  had 
a  difference ;  and  she  would  not  release  the  infant  until  she 
had  rung  the  bell  of  Bungalow  Lodge,  where  she  gave  it  up  to 
the  footman. 

The  giant  in  scarlet  had  slunk  down  towards  Knightsbridge 
meanwhile.  The  big  rogues  are  always  crossing  the  Park  and 
the  Gardens,  and  hankering  about  Our  Street. 


WHAT  SOMETIMES  HAPPENS  IN  OUR  STREET. 

It  was  before  old  Hunkington's  house  that  the  mutes  vveie 
standing,  as  I  passed  and  saw  this  group  at  the  door.  The 
charity-boy  with  the  hoop  is  the  son  of  the  jolly-looking  mute  j 
he  admires  his  father,  who  admires  himself  too,  in  those  bran- 
new  sables.  The  other  infants  are  the  spawn  of  the  alleys 
about  Our  Street.  Only  the  parson  and  the  typhus  fever  visit 
those  mysterious  haunts,  which  lie  crouched  about  our  splendid 
houses  like  Lazarus  at  the  threshold  of  Dives. 

Those  little  ones  come  crawling  abroad  in  the  sunshine,  to 
the  annoyance  of  the  beadles,  and  the  horror  of  a  number  of 
good  people  in  the  street.  They  will  bring  up  the  rear  of  the 
procession  anon,  when  the  grand  omnibus  with  the  feathers, 
and  the  fine  coaches  with  the  long-tailed  black  horses,  and  the 
gentlemen's  private  carriages  with  the  shutters  up,  pass  along 
to  Saint  Waltheof's. 

You  can  hear  the  slow  bell  tolling  clear  in  the  sunshine 
already,  mingling  with  the  crowing  of  "  Punch,"  who  is  pass- 
ing down  the  street  with  his  show  j  and  the  two  musics  make  a 
queer  medley. 

Not  near  so  many  people,  I  remark,  engage  "  Punch  "  now 
as  in  the  good  old  times.  I  suppose  our  quarter  is  growing 
too  genteel  for  him. 

Miss  Bridget  Jones,  a  poor  curate's  daughter  in  Wales, 
comes  into  all  Hunkington's  property,  and  will  take  his  name, 
as  I  am  told.  Nobody  ever  heard  of  her  before.  I  am  sure 
Captain  Hunkington,  and  his  brother  liarnwell  Hunkington, 
must  wish  that  the  lucky  young  lady  had  never  been  heard  of 
to  the  present  day. 

But  they  will  have  the  consolation  of  thinking  that  they  did 
their  duty  by  their  uncle,  and  consoled  his  declining  years.  It 
was  but  last  month  that  Millwood  Hunkington  (the  Captain) 
sent  the  old  gentleman  a  service  of  plate  ;  and  Mrs.  Barnwell 
got  a  reclining  carriage  at  a  great  expense  from  Hobbs  and 
Dobb's,  in  which  the  old  gentleman  went  out  only  once. 

"  It  is  a  punishment  on  those  Hunkingtons,"  Miss  Clapper- 
claw remarks  :  "  upon  those  people  who  have  been  always  liv 
(56) 


A  STREET  CEREMONY. 

5 


OUR  STREET. 


57 


ing  beyond  their  little  incomes,  and  always  speculating  upon 
what  the  old  man  would  leave  them,  and  always  coaxing  him 
with  presents  which  they  could  not  afford,  and  he  did  not  want. 
It  is  a  punishment  upon  those  Hunkingtons  to  be  so  dlsap 
pointed." 

"  Think  of  giving  him  plate,"  Miss  C.  justly  says,  "  who  had 
chests-full ;  and  sending  him  a  carriage,  who  could  afford  to 
buy  all  Long  Acre.  And  everything  goes  to  Miss  Jones  Hunk- 
ington.  I  wonder  will  she  give  the  things  back  ? "  Miss 
Clapperclaw  asks.     "I  wouldn't." 

And  indeed  I  don't  think  Miss  Clapperclaw  would. 


SOMEBODY   WHOM  NOBODY  KNOWS, 

That  pretty  little  house,  the  last  in  Pocklington  Square,  was 
lately  occupied  by  a  young  widow  lady  who  wore  a  pink  bon- 
net, a  short  silk  dress,  sustained  by  a  crinoline,  and  a  light  blue 
mantle,  or  over-jacket  (Miss  C.  is  not  here  to  tell  me  the  name 
of  the  garment)  ;  or  else  a  black  velvet  pelisse,  a  yellow  shawl, 
and  a  white  bonnet ;  or  else — but  never  mind  the  dress,  which 
seemed  to  be  of  the  handsomest  sort  money  could  buy — and 
who  had  very  long  glossy  black  ringlets,  and  a  peculiarly 
brilliant  complexion, — No.  96  Pocklington  Square,  I  say,  was 
lately  occupied  by  a  widow  lady  named  Mrs.  Stafford  Moly- 
neux. 

The  very  first  day  on  which  an  intimate  and  valued  female 
friend  of  mine  saw  Mrs.  Stafford  Molyneux  stepping  into  a 
brougham,  with  a  splendid  bay  horse,  and  without  a  footman, 
(mark,  if  you  please,  that  delicate  sign  of  respectability,)  and 
after  a  moment's  examination  of  Mrs.  S.  M.'s  toilette,  her  man- 
ners, little  dog,  carnation-colored  parasol,  &c.,  Miss  Elizabeth 
Clapperclaw  clapped  to  the  opera-glass  with  which  she  had  been 
regarding  the  new  inhabitant  of  Our  Street,  came  away  from 
the  window  in  a  great  flurry,  and  began  poking  her  fire  in  a  fit 
of  virtuous  indignation. 

"  She's  very  pretty,"  said  I,  who  had  been  looking  over  Miss 
C.'s  shoulder  at  the  widow  with  the  flashing  eyes  and  drooping 
ringlets. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  said  Miss  Clapperclaw,  tossing  up 
her  virgin  head  with  an  indignant  blush  on  her  nose.  "  It's  a 
sin  and  a  shame  that  such  a  creature  should  be  riding  in  her 
carriage,  forsooth,  when  honest  people  must  go  on  foot." 

Subsequent  observations  confirmed  my  revered  fellow- 
lodger's  anger  and  opinion.  We  have  watched  Hansom  cabs 
standing  before  that  lady's  house  for  hours;  we  have  seen 
broughams,  with  great  flaring  eyes,  keeping  watch  there  in  the 
darkness ;  we  have  seen  the  vans  from  the  comestible-shops 
drive  up  and  discharge  loads  of  wines,  groceries,  French  plums, 
and  other  articles  of  luxurious  horror.  We  have  seen  Count 
Wowski's  drag.  Lord  Martingale's  carriage,  Mr.  Deuceace's 
cab  drive  up  there  time  after  time ;  and  (having  remarked  pre^ 
(58) 


THE  LADY  WHOM  NOBODY  KNOWS. 


OUR  STREET. 


S^ 


viously  the  pastry-cook's  men  arrive  with  the  trays  and  entrees), 
we  have  known  that  this  widow  was  giving  dinners  at  the  little 
house  in  Pocklington  Square — dinners  such  as  decent  people 
could  not  hope  to  enjoy. 

My  excellent  friend  has  been  in  a  perfect  fury  when  Mrs. 
Stafford  Molyneux,  in  a  black  velvet  riding-habit,  with  a  hat 
and  feather,  has  come  out  and  mounted  an  odious  gray  horse, 
and  has  cantered  down  the  street,  followed  by  her  groom  upon 
a  bay. 

"  It  won't  last  long- — it  must  end  in  shame  and  humiliation,'' 
my  dear  Miss  C.  has  remarked,  disappointed  that  the  tiles  and 
chimney-pots  did  not  fall  down  upon  Mrs.  Stafford  Molyneux's 
head,  and  crush  that  cantering,  audacious  woman. 

But  it  was  a  consolation  to  see  her  when  she  walked  out 
with  a  French  maid,  a  couple  of  children,  and  a  little  dog  hang- 
ing on  to  her  by  a  blue  ribbon.  She  always  held  down  he' 
head  then — her  head  with  the  drooping  black  ringlets.  The 
virtuous  and  well-disposed  avoided  her.  I  have  seen  the 
Square-keeper  himself  looked  puzzled  as  she  passed  ;  and  Lady 
Kicklebury  walking  by  with  Miss  K.,  her  daughter,  turn  away 
from  Mrs.  Stafford  Molyneux,  and  fling  back  at  her  a  ruthless 
Parthian  glance  that  ought  to  have  killed  any  woman  of  decent 
sensibility. 

That  wretched  woman,  meanwhile,  with  her  rouged  cheeks 
(for  rouge  it  is,  Miss  Clapperclaw  swears,  and  who  is  a  better 
judge  ?)  has  walked  on  conscious,  and  yet  somehow  braving  out 
the  Street.  You  could  read  pride  of  her  beauty,  pride  of  her 
fine  clothes,  shame  of  her  position,  in  her  downcast  black  eyes. 

As  for  Mademoiselle  Trampoline,  her  French  maid,  she 
would  stare  the  sun  itself  out  of  countenance.  One  day  she 
tossed  up  her  head  as  she  passed  under  our  windows  with  a 
look  of  scorn  that  drove  Miss  Clapperclaw  back  to  the  fire- 
place again. 

It  was  Mrs.  Stafford  Molyneux's  children,  however,  whom 
I  pitied  the  most.  Once  her  boy,  in  a  flaring  tartan,  went  up 
to  speak  to  Master  Roderick  Lacy,  whose  maid  was  engaged 
ogling  a  policeman  ;  and  the  children  were  going  to  make 
friends,  being  united  with  a  hoop  which  Master  Molyneux  had, 
when  Master  Roderick's  maid,  rushing  up,  clutched  her  charge 
to  her  arms,  and  hurried  away,  leaving  little  Molyneux  sad  and 
wondering. 

"  Why  won't  he  play  with  me,  mamma  ?  "  Master  Molyneux 
asked — and  his  mother's  face  blushed  purple  as  she  walked 
iway. 


6o  OUR  STREET 

"  Ah — heaven  help  us  and  forgive  us  !  "  said  I ;  but  Miss 
C.  can  never  forgive  the  mother  or  child  ;  and  she  clapped  her 
hands  for  joy  one  day  when  we  saw  the  shutters  up,  bills  in  the 
windows,  a  carpet  hanging  out  over  the  balcony,  and  a  crowd 
of  shabby  Jews  about  the  steps — giving  token  that  the  reign  of 
Mrs.  Stafford  Molyneux  was  over.  The  pastry-cooks  and  their 
trays,  the  bay  and  the  gray,  the  brougham  and  the  groom,  the 
noblemen  and  their  cabs,  were  all  gone  ;  and  the  tradesmen  in 
the  neighborhood  were  crying  out  that  they  were  done. 

"  Serve  the  odious  minx  right !  "  says  Miss  C. ;  and  she 
played  at  piquet  that  night  with  more  vigor  than  I  have  known 
her  manifest  for  these  last  ten  years. 

What  is  it  that  makes  certain  old  ladies  so  savage  upon 
certain  subjects?  Miss  C.  is  a  good  woman  ;  pays  her  rent  and 
her  tradesmen  ;  gives  plenty  to  the  poor  ;  is  brisk  with  her 
tongue — kind-hearted  in  the  main  ;  but  if  Mrs.  Stafford  Moly- 
neux and  her  children  were  plunged  into  a  caldron  of  boiling 
vinegar,  I  think  my  revered  friend  would  not  take  them  out. 


THE  MAN  IN  POSSESSION. 

For  another  misfortune  which  occurred  in  Our  Street  we 
were  much  more  compassionate.  We  liked  Dandy  Dixon,  and 
his  wife  Fanny  Dixon  still  more.  Miss  C.  had  a  paper  of  bis- 
cuits and  a  box  of  preserved  apricots  always  in  the  cupboard, 
ready  for  Dixon's  children — provisions  by  the  way  which  she 
locked  up  under  Mrs.  Cammysole's  nose,  so  that  our  landlady 
could  by  no  possibility  lay  a  hand  on  them. 

Dixon  and  his  wife  had  the  neatest  little  house  possible, 
(No.  1 6,  opposite  96,)  and  were  liked  and  respected  by  the 
whole  street.  He  was  called  Dandy  Dixon  when  he  was  in 
the  Dragoons,  and  was  a  light-weight,  and  rather  famous  as  a 
gentleman  rider.  On  his  marriage,  he  sold  out  and  got  fat  \ 
and  was  indeed  a  florid,  contented,  and  jovial  gentleman. 

His  little  wife  was  charming — to  see  her  in  pink  with  some 
miniature  Dixons,  in  pink  too,  round  about  her,  or  in  that  beauti- 
ful gray  dress,  with  the  deep  black  lace  flounces,  which  she 
wore  at  my  Lord  Comandine's  on  the  night  of  the  private  the- 
atricals, would  have  done  any  man  good.  To  hear  her  sing 
any  of  my  little  ballads,  "  Knowest  Thou  the  Willow-tree  ? " 
for  instance,  or  "  The  Rose  upon  my  Balcony,"  or  "  The  Hum- 
ming of  the  Honey-bee,"  (far  superior  in  7ny  judgment,  and  in 
that  of  some  good  judges  likewise,  to  that  humbug  Clarence 
Bulbul's  ballads,) — to  hear  her,  I  say,  sing  these,  was  to  be  in 
a  sort  of  small  Elysium.  Dear,  dear  little  Fanny  Dixon  !  she 
was  like  a  little  chirping  bird  of  Paradise.  It  was  a  shame 
that  storms  should  ever  ruffle  such  a  tender  plumage. 

Well,  never  mind  about  sentiment.  Dandy  Dixon,  the 
owner  of  this  little  treasure,  an  ex-captain  of  Dragoons,  and 
having  nothing  to  do,  and  a  small  income,  wisely  thought  he 
would  employ  his  spare  time,  and  increase  his  revenue.  He 
became  a  director  of  the  Cornaro  Life  Lisurance  Company,  of 
the  Tregulpho  tin-mines,  and  of  four  or  five  railroad  companies. 
It  was  amusing  to  see  him  swaggering  about  the  City  in  his 
clinking  boots,  and  with  his  high  and  mighty  dragoon  manners 


5 


*  (.6:; 


52  .  OUR  STREET. 

For  a  time  his  talk  about  shares  after  dinner  was  perfectly  in 
tolerable  ;  and  I  for  one  was  always  glad  to  leave  him  in  the 
company  of  sundry  very  dubious  capitalists  who  frequented  his 
house,  and  walked  up  to  hear  Mrs.  Fanny  warbling  at  the 
piano  with  her  little  children  about  her  knees. 

It  was  only  last  season  that  they  set  up  a  carriage — the 
modestest  little  vehicle  conceivable — driven  by  Kirby,  who 
had  been  in  Dixon's  troop  in  the  regiment,  and  had  followed 
him  into  private  life  as  coachman,  footman,  and  page. 

One  day  lately  I  went  into  Dixon's  house,  hearing  that 
some  calamities  had  befallen  him,  the  particulars  of  which 
Miss  Clapperclaw  was  desirous  to  know.  The  creditors  of 
the  Tregulpho  Mines  had  got  a  verdict  against  him  as  one  of 
the  directors  of  that  company ;  the  engineer  of  the  Little  Did- 
dlesex  Junction  had  sued  him  for  two  thousand  three  hundred 
pounds — the  charges  of  that  scientific  man  for  six  weeks'  labo: 
in  surveying  the  line.  His  brother  directors  were  to  be  dis- 
covered nowhere:  Windham,  Dodgin,  Mizzlington,  and  the 
rest,  were  gone  long  ago. 

When  I  entered,  the  door  was  open  :  there  was  a  smell  ov 
smoke  in  the  dining-room,  where  a  gentleman  at  noonday  was 
seated  with  a  pipe  and  a  pot  of  beer  :  a  man  in  possession  in- 
deed, in  that  comfortable  pretty  parlor,  by  that  snug  roupq 
table  where  I  have  so  often  seen  Fanny  Dixon's  smiling  face 

Kirby,  the  ex-dragoon,  was  scowling  at  the  fellow,  who  laj 
upon  a  little  settee  reading  the  newspaper,  with  an  evident 
desire  to  kill  him.  Mrs.  Kirby,  his  wife,  held  little  Danby, 
poor  Dixon's  son  and  heir.  Dixon's  portrait  smiled  over  the 
sideboard  still,  and  his  wife  was  up  stairs  in  an  agony  of  ?ear, 
with  the  poor  little  daughters  of  this  bankrupt,  broken  family. 

This  poor  soul  had  actually  come  down  and  paid  a  visit  to 
the  man  in  possession.  She  had  sent  wine  and  dinner  to  "  the 
gentleman  down  stairs,"  as  she  called  him  in  her  terror.  She 
had  tried  to  move  his  heart,  by  representing  to  him  how  inno- 
cent Captain  Dixon  was,  and  how  he  had  always  paid,  and 
always  remained  at  home  when  e^'erybody  else  had  fled.  As  if 
her  tears  an'^  simple  tales  and  entreaties  could  move  that  man 
in  possession  out  of  the  house,  or  induce  him  to  pay  the  costs 
of  the  action  which  her  husband  had  lost. 

Danby  meanwhile  was  at  Boulogne,  sickening  after  his  wife 
and  children.  They  sold  everything  in  his  house — all  his 
smart  furniture  and  neat  little-  stock  of  plate  ;  his  wardrobe 
and  his  linen,  "  the  property  of  a  gentleman  gone  abroad  ;  "  his 
carriage  by  the  best  maker;  and  his  wine  selected  without  re- 


THE  MAN   IN  POSSESSION. 


OUR  STREET. 


63 


gard  to  expense.  His  house  was  shut  up  as  completely  as  his 
opposite  neighbor's ;  and  a  new  tenant  is  just  having  it  fresli 
painted  inside  and  out,  as  if  poor  Dixon  had  left  an  infection 
behind. 

Kirby  and  his  wife  went  across  the  water  with  the  children 
and  Mrs.  Fanny — she  has  a  small  settlement ;  and  I  am  bound 
to  say  that  our  mutual  friend  Miss  Elizabeth  C.  went  down 
with  Mrs.  Dixon  in  the  fly  to  the  Tower  Stairs,  and  stopped  in 
Lombard  Street  by  the  way. 

So  it  is  that  the  world  wags  :  that  honest  men  and  knaves 
alike  are  always  having  ups  and  downs  of  fortune,  and  that  we 
are  perpetually  changing  tenants  in  Our  Street. 


THE  LION  OF  THE  STREET. 

What  people  can  find  in  Clarence  Bulbul,  who  has  lately 
taken  upon  himself  the  rank  and  dignity  of  Lion  of  Our  Street, 
I  have  always  been  at  a  loss  to  conjecture. 

"  He  has  written  an  Eastern  book  of  considerable  merit," 
Miss  Clapperclaw  says  ;  but  hang  it,  has  not  everybody  written 
an  Eastern  book  ?  I  should  like  to  meet  anybody  in  society 
now  who  has  not  been  up  to  the  second  cataract.  An  Eastern 
book  forsooth  !  My  Lord  Castleroyal  has  done  one — an  honest 
one  ;  my  Lord  Youngent  another — an  amusing  one  ;  my  Lord 
VVoolsey  another — a  pious  one;  there  is  "The  Cutlet  and  the 
Cabob  " — a  sentimental  one  ;  "  Timbuctoothen  " — a  humorous 
one,  all  ludicrously  overrated,  in  my  opinion :  not  including 
my  own  little  book,  of  which  a  copy  or  two  is  still  to  be  had, 
by  the  way. 

Well,  then,  Clarence  Bulbul,  because  he  has  made  part  of 
the  little  tour  that  all  of  us  know,  comes  back  and  gives  him- 
self airs,  forsooth,  and  howls  as  if  he  were  just  out  of  the  great 
Libyan  desert. 

When  we  go  and  see  him,  that  L-ish  Jew  courier,  whom  I 
have  before  had  the  honor  to  describe,  looks  up  from  the  novel 
which  he  is  reading  in  the  ante-room,  and  says,  "  Mon  maitre 
est  an  divan,"  or,  "  Monsieur  trouvera  Monsieur  dans  son 
se'rail,"  and  relapses  into  the  Comte  de  Montecristo  again. 

Yes,  the  impudent  wretch  has  actually  a  room  in  his  apart- 
ments on  the  ground  floor  of  his  mother's  house,  which  he 
calls  his  harem.  When  Lady  Betty  Bulbul  (they  are  of  the 
Nightingale  family)  or  Miss  Blanche  comes  down  to  visit  him, 
their  slippers  are  placed  at  the  door,  and  he  receives  them  on 
an  ottoman,  and  these  infatuated  women  will  actually  light  his 
pipe  for  him. 

Little  vSpitfire,  the  groom,  hangs  about  the  drawing-room, 
outside  the  harem  forsooth  !  so  that  he  may  be  ready  when 
Clarence  Bulbul  claps  hands  for  him  to  bring  the  pipes  and 
cofifee. 

He  has  coffee  and  pipes  for  everybody.  I  should  like  you 
to  Jiave  seen   the  _ace   of  old   J]owly,  his   college-tutor,  called 

f64) 


THE  LION  OF  THE  STREET. 


OUR  STREET. 


6S 


upon  to  sit  cross-legged  on  a  divan,  a  little  cup  of  bitter  black 
Mocha  put  into  his  hand,  and  a  large  amber-muzzled  pipe 
stuck  into  his  mouth  by  Spitfire,  before  he  could  so  much  as 
say  it  was  a  fine  day.  Bowly  almost  thought  he  had  compro- 
mised his  principles  by  consenting  so  far  to  this  Turkish 
manner, 

Bulbul's  dinners  are,  I  own,  very  good  ;  his  pilaffs  and 
curries  excellent.  He  tried  to  make  us  eat  rice  with  our  fingers, 
it  is  true ;  but  he  scalded  his  own  hands  in  the  business,  and 
invariably  bedizened  his  shirt :  so  he  has  left  off  the  Turkish 
practice,  for  dinner  at  least,  and  uses  a  fork  like  a  Christian. 

But  it  is  in  society  that  he  is  most  remarkable  ;  and  here 
he  would,  I  own,  be  odious,  but  he  becomes  delightful,  because 
all  the  men  hate  him  so.  A  perfect  chorus  of  abuse  is  raised 
round  about  him  "  Confounded  impostor,"  says  one  ;  "  Impu- 
dent jackass,"  says  another  ;  "  Miserable  puppy,"  cries  a  third  ; 
"  I'd  like  to  wring  his  neck,"  says  BruiT,  scowling  over  his 
shoulder  at  him.  Clarence  meanwhile  nods,  winks,  smiles,  and 
patronizes  them  all  with  the  easiest  good-humor.  He  is  a  fel- 
low who  would  poke  an  archbishop  in  the  apron,  or  clap  a  duke 
on  the  shoulder,  as  coolly  as  he  would  address  you  and  me. 

I  saw  him  the  other  night  at  Mrs.  Bumpsher's  grand  let-off. 
He  flung  himself  down  cross-legged  vipon  a  pink  satin  sofa,  so 
that  you  could  see  Mrs.  Bumpsher  quiver  with  rage  in  the  dis- 
tance, Bruff  growl  with  fury  from  the  further  room,  and  Miss 
Pim,  on  whose  frock  Bulbul's  feet  rested,  look  up  like  a  timid 
fawn. 

"Fan  me,  Miss  Pim,"  said  he  of  the  cushion.  "You  look 
like  a  perfect  Peri  to-night.  You  remind  me  of  a  girl  I  once 
knew  in  Circassia — Ameena,  the  sister  of  Schamyl  Bey.  Do 
you  know,  Miss  Pim,  that  you  would  fetch  twenty  thousand 
piastres  in  the  market  at  Constantinople?  " 

"  Law,  Mr.  Bulbul !  "  is  all  Miss  Pim  can  ejaculate  ;  and 
having  talked  over  Miss  Pim,  Clarence  goes  off  to  another 
houri,  whom  he  fascinates  in  a  similar  manner.  He  charmed 
Mrs.  Waddy  by  telling  her  that  she  was  the  exact  figure  of  the 
Pasha  of  Egypt's  second  wife.  He  gave  Miss  Tokely  a  piece 
of  the  sack  in  which  Zuleika  was  drowned';  and  he  actually 
persuaded  that  poor  little  silly  Miss  Vain  to  turn  Mahometan, 
and  sent  her  up  to  the  Turkish  Ambassador's  to  look  out  for  a 
mufti. 


THE  DOVE  OF  OUR  STREET. 

If  Bulbul  is  our  Lion,  Young  Oriel  may  be  described  as  The 
Dove  of  our  colony.  He  is  almost  as  great  a  pasha  among  the 
iadies  as  Bulbul.  They  crowd  in  flocks  to  see  him  at  Saint 
Waltheof's,  where  the  immense  height  of  his  forehead,  the  rigid 
asceticism  of  his  surplice,  the  twang  with  which  he  intones  the 
service,  and  the  namby-pamby  mysticism  of  his  sermons,  have 
turned  all  the  dear  girls'  heads  for  some  time  past.  While  we 
were  having  a  rubber  at  Mrs.  Chauntry's,  whose  daughters  are 
following  the  new  mode,  I  heard  the  following  talk  (which  made 
me  revoke  b}^  the  way)  going  on,  in  what  was  formerly  called 
the  young  ladies* room,  but  is  now  styled  the  oratory  : — 

THE   ORATORY. 

MISS   CHAUNTRV.  MISS   ISABEL  CIIAUNTRY. 

MISS   DE   L'AISLE.  MISS    PYX. 

REV.  L.   ORIEL.  REV.  O.   'A\.0<ZViVi.—{Iit  the  further  room  ?i 

Miss  Chaitntry  {sighing). — Is  it  wrong  to  be  in  the  Guards, 
Dear  Mr.  Oriel  ? 

Miss  Pyx. — She  will  make  Frank  de  Ijoots  sell  out  when  he 
marries. 

Mrs.  Oriel. — To  be  in  the  Guards,  dear  sister  ?  The 
church  has  always  encouraged  the  army.  Saint  Martin  of  Tours 
was  in  the  army  ;  Saint  Louis  was  in  the  army  ;  Saint  Waltheof, 
our  patron,  Saint  Witikind  of  Aldermanbury,  Saint  Wamba, 
and  Saint  Walloff  were  in  the  army.  Saint  Wapshot  was  cap- 
tain of  the  guard  of  Queen  Boadicea  ;  and  Saint  Werewolf  was 
a  major  in  the  Danish  cavalry.  The  holy  Saint  Ignatius  of 
Loyola  carried  a  pike,  as  M'e  know  ;  and 

Miss  De  r Aisle. — Will  you  take  some  tea,  dear  Mr.  Oriel  ? 

Oriel. — This  is  one  of  my  feast  days,  Sister  Emma.  It  is 
the  feast  of  Saint  Wagstaff  of  Walthamstow. 

The  Young  Ladies. — And  we  must  not  even  take  tea? 

Oriel. — Dear  sisters,  I  said  not  so.  Yoit  may  do  as  you 
list ;  but  I  am  strong  [with  a  heart-broken  sigh)  ;  don't  ply  me 

^66) 


THE  DOVE  OK  THE  SIREET. 


OUR  STREET.  67 

(Jie  reels).  I  took  a  little  water  and  a  parched  pea  after  matins. 
To-morrow  is  a  flesh  day,  and — and  I  shall  be  better  then, 

J^ev.  O.  SIociDH  (from  2oit/ii?i). — Madam,  I  take  your  heart 
with  my  small  trump. 

Oriel. — Yes,  better  1  dear  sister  ;  it  is  only  a  passing — a — • 
weakness. 

Miss  I.  Chaujitry. — He's  dying  of  fever. 

Aliss  Chauntry. — I'm  so  glad  De  Boots  need  not  leave  the 
Blues. 

Miss  Pyx. — He  wears  sackcloth  and  ashes  and  cinders  in- 
side his  waistcoat. 

Miss  De  I' Aisle. — He's  told  me  to-night  he's  going  to — to 
— Ro-o-ome.     \_Miss  De  P Aisle  bursts  into  tears?\^ 

Rev.  O.  Sloeum — My  lord,  I  have  the  highest  club,  which 
gives  the  trick  and  two  by  honors. 

Thus,  you  see,  we  have  a  variety  of  clergymen  in  Our  Street. 
Mr.  Oriel  is  of  the  pointed  Gothic  school,  while  old  Sloeum  is 
of  the  good  old  tawny  port-wine  school ;  and  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  Mr.  Gronow  at  Ebenezer,  has  a  hearty  abhorrence 
for  both. 

As  for  Gronow,  I  piiy  him,  if  his  future  lot  should  fall  where 
Mr.  Oriel  supposes  that  it  will. 

And  as  for  Oriel  he  has  not  even  the  benefit  of  purgatory, 
which  he  would  accord  to  his  neighbor  Ebenezer  ;  while  old 
Sloeum  pronounces  both  to  be  a  couple  of  humbugs  ;  and  Mr. 
Mole,  the  demure  little  beetle-browed  chaplain  of  the  little 
church  of  Avemary  Lane,  keeps  his  sly  eyes  down  to  the 
ground  when  he  passes  any  one  of  his  black-coated  brethren. 

There  is  only  one  point  on  which,  my  friends  they  seem 
agreed.  Sloeum  likes  port,  but  who  ever  heard  that  he  ne- 
glected his  poor  ?  Gronow,  if  he  comminates  his  neighbor's 
congregation,  is  the  affectionate  father  of  his  own.  Oriel,  if  he 
loves  pointed  Gothic  and  parched  peas  for  breakfast,  has  a 
prodigious  soup-kitchen  for  his  poor  ;  and  as  for  little  Father 
Mole,  who  never  lifts  his  eyes  from  the  ground,  ask  our  doctor 
at  what  bedsides  he  finds  him,  and  how  he  soothes  poverty 
and  braves  misery  and  infection. 


THE  BUMPS  HERS. 

No.  6  Pocklingtou  Gardens,  (the  house  with  the  quantity  of 
flowers  in  the  windows,  and  the  awning  over  the  entrance,) 
George  Bumpsher,  Esquire,  M.  P.  for  Humborough  (and  the 
Beanstalks,  Kent). 

For  some  time  after  this  gorgeous  family  came  into  our 
quarter,  I  mistook  a  bald-headed,  stout  person,  whom  I  used  to 
see  looking  through  the  flowers  on  the  upper  windows,  for 
Bumpsher  himself,  or  for  the  butler  of  the  family ;  whereas  it 
was  no  other  than  Mrs.  Bumpsher,  without  her  chestnut  wig, 
and  who  is  at  least  three  times  the  size  of  her  husband. 

The  Bumpshers  and  the  house  of  Mango  at  the  Pineries  vie 
together  in  their  desire  to  dominate  over  the  neighborhood  ; 
and  each  votes  the  other  a  vulgar  and  purse-proud  family. 
The  fact  is,  both  are  City  peojDle.  Bumpsher,  in  his  mercantile 
capacity,  is  a  wholesale  stationer  in  Thames  Street ;  and  his 
wife  was  daughter  of  an  eminent  bill-broking  firm,  not  a  thou- 
sand miles  from  Lombard  Street. 

He  does  not  sport  a  coronet  and  supporters  upon  his  Lon- 
don plate  and  carriages  ;  but  his  country-house  is  emblazoned 
all  over  with  those  heraldic  decorations.  He  puts  on  an  ordei 
when  he  goes  abroad,  and  is  Count  Bumpsher  of  the  Roman 
States — which  title  he  purchased  from  the  late  Pope  (through 
Prince  Polonia  the  banker)  for  a  couple  of  thousand  scudi. 

It  is  as  good  as  a  coronation  to  see  him  and  Mrs.  Bumpsher 
go  to  Court.  I  wonder  the  carriage  can  hold  them  both.  On 
those  days  Mrs.  Bumpsher  holds  her  own  drawing-room  before 
her  Majesty's ;  and  we  are  invited  to  come  and  see  her  sitting 
in  state,  upon  the  largest  sofa  in  her  rooms.  She  has  need  of 
a  stout  one,  1  j^romise  you.  Her  very  feathers  must  weigh 
something  considerable.  The  diamonds  on  her  stomacher 
would  embroider  a  full-sized  carpet-bag.  She  has  rubies, 
ribbons,  cameos,  emeralds,  gold  serpents,  opals,  and  Valen- 
ciennes lace,  as  if  she  were  an  immense  sample  out  of  Howell 
and  James's  shop. 

(68) 


VENUS  AND  CUPID. 


OUR  STREET. 


69 


She  took  up  with  Httle  Pink- 
ney  at  Rome,  where  he  made  a 
charming  picture  of  her,  repre- 
senting her  as  about  eighteen, 
with  a  cherub  in  her  lap,  who 
has  some  liking  to  Bryanstone 
Bumpsher,  her  enormous,  vul- 
gar son  ;  now  a  cornet  in  the 
Blues.  a!.:l  anything  but  a 
cherub,  as  those  would  say  who 
saw  him  in  his  uniform  jacket. 

I  remember  Pinkney  when 
he  was  painting  the  picture, 
Bryanstone  being  then  a  youth 
in  what  they  call  a  skeleton 
suit  (as  if  such  a  pig  of  a  child 
could  ever  have  been  dressed  in 
anything  resembling  a  skeleton) — I  remember,  I  say,  Mrs.  B. 
sitting  to  Pinkney  in  a  sort  of  Egerian  costume,  her  boy  by 
her  side,  whose  head  the  artist  turned  round  and  directed  it 
towards  a  piece  of  gingerbiead,  which  he  was  to  have  at  the 
end  of  the  sitting. 

Pinkney,  indeed,  a  painter! — a  contemptible  little  humbug, 
and  parasite  of  the  great !  He  has  painted  Mrs.  Bumpsher 
younger  every  year  for  these  last  ten  years — and  you  see  in  the 
advertisements  of  all  her  parties  his  odious  little  name  .'^tuck  in 
at  the  end  of  the  list.  I'm  sure,  for  my  part,  I'd  scorn  lo  *t\i*zi 
her  doors,  or  be  the  toady  of  any  woman. 

6 


yOLLY  NEWBOY,  ESQ.,  M.  P. 

How  different  it  is  with  the  Newboys,  now,  where  I  hare  an 
entree  (having  indeed  had  the  honor  in  former  days  to  give 
lessons  to  both  the  ladies) — and  where  such  a  quack  as  Pink- 
ney  would  never  be  allowed  to  enter !  A  merrier  house  the 
whole  quarter  cannot  furnish.  It  is  there  you  meet  people  of 
all  ranks  and  degrees,  not  only  from  our  quarter,  but  from  the 
rest  of  the  town.  It  is  there  that  our  great  man,  the  Right 
Honorable  Lord  Comandine,  came  up  and  spoke  to  me  in  so 
encouraging  a  manner  that  I  hope  to  be  invited  to  one  of  his 
lordship's  excellent  dinners  (of  which  I  shall  not  fail  to  give  a 
very  flattering  description)  before  the  season  is  over.  It  is 
there  you  find  yourself  talking  to  statesmen,  poets,  and  artists 
— not  sham  poets  like  Bulbul,  or  quack  artists  like  that  Pinkney 
— but  to  the  best  members  of  all  society.  It  is  there  I  made 
this  sketch,  while  Miss  Chesterforth  was  singing  a  deep-toned 
tragic  ballad,  and  her  mother  scowling  behind  her.  What  a 
buzz  and  clack  and  chatter  there  was  in  the  room  to  be  sure  ! 
When  Miss  Chesterforth  sings,  everybody  begins  to  talk. 
Hicks  and  old  Fogy  were  on  Ireland  :  Bass  was  roaring-  into 
old  Pump's  ears  (or  into  his  horn  rather)  about  the  Navigation 
Laws ;  I  was  engaged  talking  to  the  charming  Mrs.  Short  \ 
while  Charley  Bonham  (a  mere  prig,  in  whom  I  am  surprisecl 
that  the  women  can  see  anything,)  was  pouring  out  his  fulsome 
rhapsodies  in  the  ears  of  Diana  White.  Lovely,  lovely  Diana 
White  !  were  it  not  for  three  or  four  other  engagements,  I  know 
a  heart  that  would  suit  you  to  a  1\ 

Newboy's  I  pronounce  to  be  the  jolliest  house  in  the  street. 
He  has  only  of  late  had  a  rush  of  prosperity,  and  turned  Par- 
liament man ;  for  his  distant  cousin,  of  the  ancient  house  of 

Newboy  of shire,  dying,  Fred — -then    making  believe  to 

practise  at  the  bar,  and  living  with  the  utmost  modesty  in 
Gray's  Inn  Road — found  himself  master  of  a  fortune,  and  a 
great  house  in  the  country ;  of  which  getting  tired,  as  in  the 
course  of  nature  he  should,  he  came  up  to  London,  and  took 
that  fine  mansion  in  our  Gardens.  He  represents  Mumborough 
in  Parliament,  a  seat  which  has  been  time  out  of  mind  occupied 
by  a  Newboy. 
C70) 


I     ^1  I  HI',' 

./!  >  f\i!l 


THE  SIREN  OF  OUR  STREET- 


THE  STRKEV-DOOR  KEY. 


OUR  STREET.  71 

Though  he  does  not  speak,  being  a  great  deal  too  rich,  sen- 
sible, and  lazy,  he  somehow  occupies  himself  with  reading  blue- 
books,  and  indeed  talks  a  great  deal  too  much  good  sense  of 
late  over  his  dinner-table,  where  there  is  always  a  cover  for  the 
present  writer. 

He  falls  asleep  pretty  assiduously  too  after  that  meal— a 
practice  which  I  can  well  pardon  in  him — for,  between  our- 
selves, his  wife,  Maria  Newboy,  and  his  sister,  Clarissa,  are  the 
loveliest  and  kindest  of  their  sex,  and  I  would  rather  hear  their 
innocent  prattle,  and  lively  talk  about  their  neighbors,  than  the 
best  wisdom  from  the  wisest  man  that  ever  wore  a  beard. 

Like  a  wise  and  good  man,  he  leaves  the  question  of  his 
household  entirely  to  the  women.  They  like  going  to  the  play. 
They  like  going  to  Greenwich.  They  like  coming  to  a  party 
at  Bachelor's  Hall.  They  are  up  to  all  sorts  of  fun,  in  a  word  ; 
in  which  taste  the  good-natured  Newboy  acquiesces,  provided 
he  is  left  to  follow  his  own. 

It  was  only  on  the  17th  of  the  month,  that,  having  had  the 
honor  to  dine  at  the  house,  when,  after  dinner,  which  took  place 
at  eight,  we  left  Newboy  to  his  blue-books,  and  went  up  stairs 
and  sang  a  little  to  the  guitar  afterwards — it  was  only  on  the 
17th  December,  the  night  of  Lady  Sowerby's  party,  that  the 
following  dialogue  took  place  in  the  boudoir,  whither  Newboy, 
blue-books  in  hand,  had  ascended. 

He  was  curled  up  with  his  House  of  Commons  boots  on  his 
wife's  arm-chair,  reading  his  eternal  blue-books,  when  Mrs.  N. 
entered  from  her  apartment,  dressed  for  the  evening. 

Mts.  N. — Frederick,  won't  you  come  ? 

Mr.  iV:— Where  ? 

Mrs.  JV. — To  Lady  Sowerby's. 

Mr.  N. — I'd  rather  go  to  the  Black  Hole  in  Calcutta.  Be- 
sides, this  Sanitary  Report  is  really  the  most  interesting — \/ie 
iegins  to  rem/.] 

Mrs.  N.  {^piqued) — Well,  Mr.  Titmarsh  will  go  with  us. 

Mr.  N. — Will  he  ?     I  wish  him  joy. 

At  this  juncture  Miss  Clarissa  Newboy  enters  in  a  pink 
paletot,  trimmed  with  swan's-down — looking  like  an  angel — 
and  we  exchange  glances  of — what  shall  I  say  ? — of  sympa- 
thy on  both  parts,  and  consummate  rapture  on  mine.  But  this 
is  by-play. 

Mrs.  N. — Good-night,  Frederick.     I  think  we  shall  be  late. 

Mr.  N. — You  won't  wake  me,  I  dare  say  ;  and  you  don't 
expect  a  public  man  to  sit  up. 

Mrs.  N. — It's    not  you,  it's  the   servants.     Cocker  sleeps 


72 


OUR  STREET. 


very  heavily.  The  maids  are  best  in  bed,  and  are  all  ill  with 
the  influenza.  I  say,  Frederick  dear,  don't  you  think  you  had 
better  give  me  your  chubb  key  ? 

This  astonishing  proposal,  which  violates  every  recognized 
law  of  society — this  demand  which  alters  all  the  existing  state 
of  things — this  fact  of  a  woman  asking  for  a  door-key,  struck 
me  with  a  terror  which  I  cannot  describe,  and  impressed  me 
with  the  fact  of  the  vast  progress  of  Our  Street.  The  door- 
key  !  What  would  our  grandmothers,  who  dwelt  in  this  place 
when  it  was  a  rustic  suburb,  think  of  its  condition  now,  when 
husbands  stay  at  home,  and  wives  go  abroad  with  the  latch 
key? 

The  evening  at  Lady  Sowerby's  was  the  most  delicious  we 
have  spent  for  long,  long  days. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  everybody  of  any  consideration  in 
Our  Street  takes  a  line.  Mrs.  Minimy  (34)  takes  the  homoeo- 
pathic line,  and  has  soire'es  of  doctors  of  that  faith.  Lady 
Pocklington  takes  the  capitalist  line  ;  and  those  stupid  and 
splendid  dinners  of  hers  are  devoured  by  loan- contractors  and 
railroad  princes.  Mrs.  Trimmer  (38)  comes  out  in  the  scienti- 
fic line,  and  indulges  us  in  rational  evenings,  where  history  is 
the  lightest  subject  admitted,  and  geology  and  the  sanitary  con- 
dition of  the  metropolis  form  the  general  themes  of  conversa- 
tion. Mrs.  Brumby  plays  finely  on  the  bassoon,  and  has  even- 
ings dedicated  to  Sebastian  Bach,  and  enlivened  with  Handel. 
At  Mrs.  Maskleyn's  they  are  mad  for  charades  and  theatricals. 

They  performed  last  Christmas  in  a  French  piece,  by  Alex- 
andre Dumas,  I  believe — '•  La  Duchesse  de  Montefiasco,"  of 
which  I  forget  the  plot,  but  everybody  was  in  love  with  every- 
body else's  wife,  except  the  hero,  Don  Alonzo,  who  was  ardently 
attached  to  the  Duchess,  who  turned  out  to  be  his  grandmother. 
The  piece  was  translated  by  Lord  Fiddle-faddle,  Tom  Bulbul 
being  the  Don  Alonzo ;  and  Mrs.  Roland  Calidore  (who  never 
misses  an  opportunity  of  acting  in  a  piece  in  which  she  can  let 
down  her  hair)  was  the  Duchess. 

Alonzo. 

You  know  how  well  he  loves  you,  and  )'ou  wonder 
To  see  Alonzo  suffer,  Cunegunda  ? — 
Ask  if  the  cliamois  suffer  when  they  feel 
Pluni;ed  in  their  ])anting  sides  the  hunter's  steel  ? 
Or  when  (he  soaring  heron  or  eagle  proud, 
Pierced  by  my  shaft,  conies  tunil)ling  from  the  cloud. 


A  SCENE  OF  PASSION. 


OUR  STREET. 


73 


Ask  if  tlie  royal  birds  no  anguish  know, 

The  victims  ofAIonzo's  twanging  bow? 

Then  ask  him  if  he  suffers- — him  who  dies, 

Pierced  by  the  poisoned  glance  that  glitters  from  your  eyes  ? 

\_He  staggers  from  the  effect  of  the  poisottK 

The  Duchess, 

Alonzo  loves — Alonzo  loves  !  and  whom  ? 

His  grandmother  !     Oh,  hide  me,  gracious  tomb  ! 

\_Her  Grace  faints  away. 

Such  acting  as  Tom  Bulbul's  I  never  saw.  Tom  lisps 
atrociously,  and  uttered  the  passage,  "  You  athk  me  if  I 
thuffer,"  in  the  most  absurd  way.  Miss  Clapperclaw  says  he 
acted  pretty  well,  and  that  I  only  joke  about  him  because  I  am 
envious,  and  wanted  to  act  a  part  myself. — I  envious  indeed  ! 

But  of  all  the  assemblies,  feastings,  junketings,  dejeijnes, 
soire'es,  conversaziones,  dinner-pariies,  in  Our  Street,  I  know 
of  none  pleasanter  than  the  banquets  at  Tom  Fairfax's  ;  one  ol 
which  this  enormous  provision-consumer  gives  seven  times  a 
week.  He  lives  in  one  of  the  little  houses  of  the  old  Waddilove 
Street  quarter,  built  long  before  Pocklington  Square  and  Pock- 
lington  Gardens  and  the  Pocklington  family  itself  had  made 
their  appearance  in  the  world. 

Tom,  though  he  has  a  small  income,  and  lives  in  a  small 
house,  yet  sits  down  one  of  a  party  of  twelve  to  dinner  every 
day  of  his  life  ;  these  twelve  consisting  of  Mrs,  Fairfax,  the  nine 
Misses  Fairfax,  and  Master  Thomas  Fairfax — the  son  and  heir 
to  twopence  halfpenny  a  year. 

It  is  awkward  just  now  to  go  and  beg  pot-luck  from  such  a 
family  as  this  ;  because,  though  a  guest  is  always  welcome,  we 
are  thirteen  at  table — an  unlucky  number,  it  is  said.  This  evil 
is  only  temporary,  and  will  be  remedied  presently,  when  the 
family  will  be  thirteen  without  the  occasional  guest,  to  judge 
from  all  appearances. 

Early  in  the  morning  Mrs.  Fairfax  rises,  and  cuts  bread  and 
butter  from  six  o'clock  till  eight ;  during  which  time  the  nursery 
operations  upon  the  nine  little  graces  are  going  on.  We  only 
see  a  half-dozen  of  them  at  this  present  moment,  and  in  the 
present  authentic  picture,  the  reniainder  dwindling  off  upon 
little  chairs  by  their  mamma. 

The  two  on  either  side  of  Fairfax  are  twins — awarded  to  him 
by  singular  good  fortune  ;  and  he  only  knows  Nancy  from.P'anny 
by  having  a  piece  of  tape  round  the  former's  arm.     There  is  no 

6* 


74 


OUR  STREET. 


need  to  give  you  tlie  catalogue  of  the  others.  She  in  the  pina- 
fore in  front  is  Elizabeth,  goddaughter  to  Miss  Clapperclaw,  who 
has  been  very  kind  to  the  whole  family ;  that  young  lady  with 
the  ringlets  is  engaged  by  the  most  solemn  ties  to  the  present 
writer,  and  it  is  agreed  that  we  are  to  be  married  as  soon  as  she 
is  as  tall  as  my  stick. 

If  his  wife  has  to  rise  early  to  cut  the  bread  and  butter,  I 
warrant  Fairfax  must  be  up  betimes  to  earn  it.  He  is  a  clerk 
in  a  Government  office  ;  to  which  duty  he  trudges  daily,  refusing 
even  twopenny  omnibuses.  Every  time  he  goes  to  the  shoe- 
maker's he  has  to  order  eleven  pairs  of  shoes,  and  so  can't 
afford  to  spare  his  own.  He  teaches  the  children  Latin  every 
morning,  and  is  already  thinking  when  Tom  shall  be  inducted 
into  that  language.  He  works  in  his  garden  for  an  hour  before 
breakfast.  His  work  over  by  three  o'clock,  he  tramps  home 
at  four,  and  exchanges  his  dapper  coat  for  that  dressing-gown 
in  which  he  appears  before  you, — a  ragged  but  honorable 
garment  in  which  he  stood  (unconsciously)  to  the  present 
designer.  ■*' 

Which  is  the  best,  his  old  coat  or  Sir  John's  bran  new  one  "i 
Which  is  the  most  comfortable  and  becoming,  Mrs.  Fairfax's 
black  velvet  gown  (which  she  has  worn  at  the  Pocklington 
Square  parties  these  twelve  years,  and  in  which  I  protest  she 
looks  like  a  queen),  or  that  new  robe  which  the  milliner  has 
just  brought  home  to  Mrs.  Bumpsher's,  and  into  which  she  will 
squeeze  herself  on  Christmas-day  } 

Miss  Clapperclaw  says  that  we  are  all  so  charmingly  con- 
tented with  ourselves  that  not  one  of  us  would  change  wiih  his 
neighbor ;  and  so,  rich  and  poor,  high  and  low,  one  person  is 
about  as  happy  as  another  in  Our  Street. 

THE   END   OF    '"OUR   STREET.'' 


THE  HAPPY  FAMILY. 


DOCTOR    BIRCH 


HIS    YOUNG    FRIENDS. 


By  Mr.  M.  A.  TITMARSH. 


DOCTOR  BIRCH. 


THE  DOCTOR  AND  HIS  STAFF. 

There  is  no  need  to  say  why  I  became  assistant-master  and 
professor  of  the  English  and  French  languages,  flower-painting, 
and  the  German  flute,  in  Dr.  Birch's  Academy,  at  Rodwell 
Regis.  Good  folks  may  depend  on  this,  that  it  was  not  for 
choice  that  I  left  lodgings  near  London,  and  a  genteel  society, 
for  an  under-master's  desk  in  that  old  school.  I  promise  you 
the  fare  at  the  usher's  table,  the  getting  tip  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  the  walking  out  with  little  boys  in  the  fields,  (who  used 
to  play  me  tricks,  and  never  could  be  got  to  respect  my  awful 
and  responsible  character  as  teacher  in  the  school,)  Miss  Birch's 
vulgar  insolence.  Jack  Birch's  glum  condescension,  and  the 
poor  old  Doctor's  patronage,  were  not  matters  in  themselves 
pleasurable  :  and  that  that  patronage  and  those  dinners  were 
sometimes  cruel  hard  to  swallow.  Nevermind — my  connection 
with  the  place  is  over  now,  and  I  hope  they  have  got  a  more 
efficient  under-master. 

Jack  Birch  (Rev.  J.  Birch,  of  St.  Neot's  Hall,  Oxford,)  is 
partner  with  his  father  the  Doctor,  and  takes  some  of  the 
classes.  About  his  Greek  I  can't  say  much  ;  but  I  will  construe 
him  in  Latin  any  day.  A  more  supercilious  little  prig,  (giving 
himself  airs,  too,  about  his  cousin,  Miss  Raby,  who  lives  with 
the  Doctor,)  a  more  empty,  pompous  little  coxcomb  I  never  saw. 
His  white  neckcloth  looked  as  if  it  choked  him.  He  used  to 
try  and  look  over  that  starch  upon  me  and  Prince  the  assistant, 
as  if  we  were  a  couple  of  footmen.  He  didn't  do  much  business 
in  the  school  ;  but  occupied  his  time  in  writing  sanctified  letters 
to  the  boys'  parents,  and  in  composing  dreary  sermons  to 
preach  to  them. 

(77) 


78  DR.  BIRCH  AXD  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 

The  real  master  of  the  school  is  Prince  ;  an  Oxford  man 
.00 :  shy,  haughty,  and  learned  ;  crammed  with  Greek  and  a 
quantity  of  useless  learning ;  uncommonly  kind  to  the  small 
boys  ;  pitiless  with  the  fools  and  the  braggarts  ;  respected  of 
all  for  his  honesty,  his  learning,  his  bravery,  (for  he  hit  out  once 
in  a  boat-row  in  away  which  astonished  the  boys  and  the  barge- 
men,) and  for  a  latent  power  about  him,  which  all  saw  and  con- 
fessed somehow.  Jack  Birch  could  never  look  him  in  the  face. 
Old  Miss  Z.  dared  not  put  off  any  of  her  airs  upon  him.  Miss 
Rosa  made  him  the  lowest  of  curtseys.  Miss  Raby  said  she 
was  afraid  of  him.  Good  old  Prince  !  we  have  sat  many  a 
night  smoking  in  the  Doctor's  harness-room,  whither  we 
retired  when  our  boys  were  gone  to  bed,  and  our  cares  and 
canes  put  by. 

After  Jack  Birch  had  taken  his  degree  at  Oxford — a  process 
which  he  effected  with  great  difficulty — this  place,  which  used 
to  be  called  "  Birch's,"  "  Dr.  Birch's  Academy,"  and  what  not, 
became  suddenly  "  Archbishop  Wigsby's  College  of  Rodwell 
Regis."  They  took  down  the  old  blue  board  with  the  gold 
letters,  which  has  been  used  to  mend  the  pigsty  since.  Birch 
had  a  large  school-room  run  up  in  the  Gothic  taste,  with 
statuettes,  and  a  little  belfry,  and  a  bust  of  Archbishop  Wigsby 
In  the  middle  of  the  school.  He  put  the  six  senior  boys  into 
caps  and  gowns,  which  had  rather  a  good  effect  as  the  lads 
sauntered  down  the  street  of  the  town,  but  which  certainly  pro- 
voked the  contempt  and  hostility  of  the  bargemen  ;  and  so 
great  was  his  rage  for  academic  costumes  and  ordinances,  that 
he  would  have  put  me  myself  into  a  lay  gown,  with  red  knots 
and  fringes,  but  that  I  flatly  resisted,  and  said  that  a  writing- 
master  had  no  business  with  such  paraphernalia. 

By  the  way,  I  have  forgotten  to  mention  the  Doctor  himself. 
And  what  shall  I  say  of  him  ?  Well,  he  has  a  very  crisp  gown 
and  bands,  a  solemn  aspect,  a  tremendous  loud  voice,  and  a 
grand  air  with  the  boys'  parents  ;  whom  he  receives  in  a  study 
covered  round  with  the  best-bound  books,  which  imposes  upon 
many — upon  the  women  especially — and  makes  them  fancy 
that  this  is  a  Doctor  indeed.  But  law  bless  you  !  He  never 
reads  the  books,  or  opens  one  of  them  ;  except  that  in  which 
he  keeps  his  bands — a  Dugdale's  "  Monasticon,"  which  looks 
like  a  book,  but  is  in  reality  a  cupboard,  where  he  has  his  port, 
almond-cakes,  and  decanter  of  wine.  He  gets  up  his  classics 
with  translations,  or  what  the  boys  call  cribs  ;  they  pass  wicked 
tricks  upon  him  when  he  hears  the  forms.  The  elder  wags  go 
to  his  study  and  ask  him  to  help  them   in  hard  bits  of  Herod- 


,Ai:i':^isteini,iii 


A  YOUNO    RAPHAEL. 


DR.  BIRCH  AND  HIS  YOUXG  FRIENDS.  yg 

dtus  or  Thucydides  :  he  says  he  will  look  over  the  passage, 
and  flies  for  refuge  to  Mr.  Prince,  or  to  the  crib. 

He  keeps  the  flogging  department  in  his  own  hands  ;  finding 
that  his  son  was  too  savage.  He  has  awful  brows  and  a  big 
voice.  But  his  roar  frightens  nobody.  It  is  only  a  lion's  skin  ; 
or,  so  to  say,  a  mufi:. 

Little  Mordant  made  a  picture  of  him  with  large  ears,  like 
a  well-known  domestic  animal,  and  had  his  own  justly  boxed 
for  the  caricature.  The  Doctor  discovered  him  in  the  act,  and 
was  in  a  flaming  rage,  and  threatened  whipping  at  first ;  but  in 
the  course  of  the  day  an  opportune  basket  of  game  arriving 
from  Mordant's  father,  the  Doctor  became  mollified,  and  has 
burnt  the  picture  with  the  ears.  However,  I  have  one  wafered 
ap  in  my  desk  by  the  hand  of  the  same  little  rascal :  and  the 
'vontispiece  of  this  very  book  is  drawn  from  it. 


THE  COCK  OF  THE  SCHOOL. 

I  AM  growing  an  old  fellow,  and  have  seen  many  great  folks 
in  the  course  of  my  travels  and  time  :  Louis  Philippe  coming 
out  of  the  Tuileries ;  his  Majesty  the  King  of  Prussia  and  the 
Reichsverweser  accolading  each  other  at  Cologne  at  my  elbow  ; 
Admiral  Sir  Charles  Napier  (in  an  omnibus  once);  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  the  immortal  Goethe  at  Weimar,  the  late  benevo- 
lent Pope  Gregory  XVI.,  and  a  score  more  of  the  famous  in 
this  world — the  w-hom  whenever  one  looks  at,  one  has  a  mild 
shock  of  awe  and  tremor.  I  like  this  feeling  and  decent  fear 
and  trembling  with  which  a  modest  spirit  salutes  a  Great 
Man. 

Well,  I  have  seen  generals  capering  on  horseback  at  the 
head  of  their  crimson  battalions  ;  bishops  sailing  down  cathe- 
dral aisles,  with  downcast  eyes,  pressing  their  trencher  caps  to 
their  hearts  with  their  fat  white  hands  ;  college  heads  when 
her  Majesty  is  on  a  visit ;  the  doctor  in  all  his  glory  at  the 
head  of  his  school  on  speech-day :  a  great  sight  and  all  great 
men  these.  I  have  never  met  the  late  Mr.  Thomas  Cribb, 
but  I  have  no  doubt  should  have  regarded  him  w^ith  the  same 
feeling  of  awe  with  which  I  look  every  day  at  George  Cham- 
pion, the  Cock  of  Dr.  Birch's  school.  ^ 

When,  I  say,  I  reflect  as  I  go  up  and  set  him  a  sum,  that 
he  could  whop  me  in  two  minutes,  double  up  Prince  and  the 
other  assistant,  and  pitch  the  Doctor  out  of  window,  I  can't 
but  think  how  great,  how  generous,  how  magnanimous  a  crea- 
ture this  is,  that  sits  quite  quiet  and  good-natured,  and  works 
his  equation,  and  ponders  through  his  Greek  play.  He  might 
take  the  school-room  pillars  and  pull  the  house  down  if  he 
liked.  He  might  close  the  door,  and  demolish  every  one  of 
us,  like  Antar  the  lover  of  Ibla  ;  but  he  lets  us  live.  He  never 
thrashes  anybody  without  a  cause  ;  when  woe  betide  the  tyrant 
or  the  sneak ! 

I  think  that  to  be  strong,  and  able  to  whop  everybody — ^ 
(not  to  do  it,  mind  you,  but  to  feel  that  you  were  able  to  do  it), 
■ — would  be  the  greatest  of  all  gifts.  There  is  a  serene  good- 
humor  whicli  jDlays  about  George  Champion's  broad  face,  which 


DR.  BIRCH  A. YD  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS.  8i 

shows  the  consciousness  of  his  power,  and  lights  up  his  honest 
blue  eyes  with  a  magnanimous  calm. 

He  is  invictus.  Even  when  a  cub  there  was  no  beating 
this  lion.  Six  years  ago  the  undaunted  little  warrior  actually 
stood  up  to  Frank  Davison, — (the  Indian  officer  now — poor 
little  Charley's  brother,  whom  Miss  Raby  nursed  so  affection- 
ately,)— then  seventeen  years  old,  and  the  Cock  of  Birch's. 
They  were  obliged  to  drag  off  the  boy,  and  Frank,  with  admira- 
tion and  regard  for  him,  prophesied  the  great  things  he  would 
do.  Legends  of  combats  are  jDreserved  fondly  in  schools  ;  they 
have  stories  of  such  at  Rodwell  Regis,  performed  in  the  old 
Doctor's  time,  forty  years  ago. 

Champion's  affair  with  the  Young  Tutbury  Pet,  who  was 
down  here  in  training, — with  Black  the  bargeman, — with  the 
three  head  boys  of  Doctor  Wapshot's  academy,  whom  he 
caught  maltreating  an  outlying  day-boy  of  ours,  &c., — are 
known  to  all  the  Rodwell  Regis  men.  He  was  always  vic- 
torious. He  is  modest  and  kind,  like  all  great  men.  He  has 
a  good,  brave,  honest  understanding.  He  cannot  make  verses 
like  young  Finder,  or  read  Greek  like  Wells  the  Prefect,  who 
is  a  perfect  young  abyss  of  learning,  and  knows  enough.  Prince 
sa3^s,  to  furnish  any  six  first-class  men  ;  but  he  does  his  work 
in  a  sound  downright  way,  and  he  is  made  to  be  the  bravest 
of  soldiers,  the  best  of  country  parsons,  an  honest  English 
gentleman  wherever  he  may  go. 

Old  Champion's  chief  friend  and  attendant  is  Young  Jack 
Hall,  whom  he  saved,  when  drowning,  out  of  the  Miller's  Pool. 
The  attachment  of  the  two  is  curious  to  witness.  The  smaller 
lad  gambolling,  playing  tricks  round  the  bigger  one,  and  per- 
petually making  fun  of  his  protector.  They  are  never  far 
apart,  and  of  holidays  you  may  meet  them  miles  away  from  the 
school, — George  sauntering  heavily  down  the  lanes  with  his 
big  stick,  and  little  Jack  larking  with  the  pretty  girls  in  the 
cottage  windows. 

George  has  a  boat  on  the  river,  in  which,  however,  he  com- 
monly lies  smoking,  whilst  Jack  sculls  him.  He  does  not  play 
at  cricket,  except  when  the  school  plays  the  county,  or  at 
Lord's  in  the  holidays.  The  boys  can't  stand  his  bowling,  and 
when  he  hits,  it  is  like  trying  to  catch  a  cannon-ball.  I  have 
seen  him  at  tennis.  It  is  a  splendid  sight  to  behold  the  young 
fellow  bounding  over  the  court  with  streaming  yellow  hair,  like 
young  Apollo  in  a  flannel-jacket. 

The  other  head  boys  are  Lawrence  the  captain,  Bunce, 
famous  chiefly  for  his  magnificent  appetite,  and  Pitman,  sur 


82  DR.  BIRCH  AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 

named  Roscius,  for  his  love  of  the  drama.  Add  to  these 
Swanky,  called  Macassar,  from  his  partiality  to  that  condi- 
ment, and  who  has  varnished  boots,  wears  white  gloves  on 
Sundays,  and  looks  out  for  Miss  Pinkerton's  school  (trans- 
ferred from  Chiswick  to  Rodwell  Regis,  and  conducted  by  the 
nieces  of  the  late  Miss  Barbara  Pinkerton,  the  friend  of  our 
great  lexicographer,  upon  the  principles  approved  by  him,  and 
practised  by  that  admirable  woman),  as  it  passes  into  church. 

Representations  have  been  made  concerning  Mr.  Horace 
Swanky's  behavior ;  rumors  have  been  uttered  about  notes  in 
verse,  conveyed  in  three-cornered  puffs,  by  Mrs.  Ruggles,  who 
serves  Miss  Pinkerton's  young  ladies  on  Fridays, — and  how 
Miss  Didow,  to  whom  the  tart  and  enclosure  were  addressed, 
tried  to  make  away  with  herself  by  swallowing  a  ball  of  cotton. 
But  I  pass  over  these  absurd  reports,  as  likely  to  affect  the 
reputation  of  an  admirable  seminary  conducted  by  irreproach- 
able females.  As  they  go  into  church.  Miss  P.  driving  in  her 
flock  of  lambkins  with  the  crook  of  her  parasol,  how  can  it  be 
helped  if  her  forces  and  ours  sometimes  collide,  as  the  boys  are 
on  their  way  up  to  the  organ-loft.''  And  I  don't  believe  a 
word  about  the  three-cornered  puff,  but  rather  that  it  was  the 
invention  of  that  jealous  Miss  Birch,  who  is  jealous  of  Miss 
Raby,  jealous  of  everybody  who  is  good  and  handsome,  and 
who  has  he}-  oniti  ends  in  view,  or  I  am  very  much  in  error. 


THE  LITTLE  SCHOOL-ROOM. 

What  they  call  the  little  school-room  is  a  small  room  at  the 
other  end  of  the  great  school ;  through  which  you  go  to  the 
Doctor's  private  house,  and  where  Miss  Raby  sits  with  her 
pupils.  She  has  a  half-dozen  very  small  ones  over  whom  she 
presides  and  teaches  them  in  her  simple  way,  until  they  are  big 
or  learned  enough  to  face  the  great  school-robm.  Many  of 
them  are  in  a  hurry  for  promotion,  the  graceless  little  simpletoas, 
and  know  no  more  than  their  elders  when  they  are  well  off. 

She  keeps  the  accounts,  writes  out  the  bills,  superintends 
the  linen,  and  sews  on  the  general  shirt-buttons.  Think  of 
having  such  a  woman  at  home  to  sew  on  one's  shirt-buttons ! 
But  peace,  peace,  thou  foolish  heart ! 

Miss  Raby  is  the  Doctor's  niece.  Her  mother  was  a  beauty 
(quite  unlike  old  Zoe  therefore)  ;  and  she  married  a  pupil  in  the 
old  Doctor's  time,  who  was  killed  afterwards,  a  captain  in  the 
East  India  service,  at  the  siege  of  Bhurtpore.  Hence  a  number 
of  Indian  children  came  to  the  Doctor's ;  for  Raby  was  very 
much  liked,  and  the  uncle's  kind  reception  of  the  orphan  has 
been  a  good  speculation  for  the  school-keeper. 

It  is  wonderful  how  brightly  and  gayly  that  little  quick  crea- 
ture does  her  duty.  She  is  the  first  to  rise,  and  the  last  to  sleep 
if  any  business  is  to  be  done.  She  sees  the  other  two  women 
go  off  to  parties  in  the  town  without  even  so  much  as  wishing 
to  join  them.  It  is  Cinderella,  only  contented  to  stay  at  home 
— content  to  bear  Zoe's  scorn  and  to  admit  Rosa's  superior 
charms, — and  to  do  her  utmost  to  repay  her  uncle  for  his  great 
kindness  in  housing  her. 

So  you  see  she  works  as  much  as  three  maid-servants  for 
the  wages  of  one.  She  is  as  thankful  when  the  Doctor  gives 
iier  a  new  gown,  as  if  he  had  presented  her  with  a  fortune  ; 
laughs  at  his  stories  most  good-humoredly,  listens  to  Zoe's 
scolding  most  meekly,  admires  Rosa  with  all  her  heart,  and 
only  goes  out  of  the  way  when  Jack  Birch  shows  his  sallow  face  : 
for  she  can't  bear  him,  and  always  finds  work  when  he  comes 
near. 

How  different  she  is  when  some  folks  approach  her !     I 

(83) 


84  DR.  BIRCH  AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 

won't  be  presumptuous  ;  but  I  think,  I  think,  I  have  made  a 
not  unfavorable  impression  in  some  quarters.  However,  let  us 
be  mum  on  this  subject.  I  like  to  see  her,  because  she  always 
\ooks  good-humored  ;  because  she  is  always  kind,  because  she 
is  always  modest,  because  she  is  fond  of  those  poor  little  brats, 
— orphans  some  of  them — because  she  is  rather  pretty,  I  dare 
say,  or  because  I  think  so,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing. 

Though  she  is  kind  to  all,  it  must  be  owned  she  shows  the 
most  gross  favoritism  towards  the  amiable  children.  She  brings 
them  cakes  from  dessert,  and  regales  them  with  Zoe's  preserves  ; 
spends  many  of  her  little  shillings  in  presents  for  her  favorites, 
and  will  tell  them  stories  by  the  hour.  She  has  one  very  sad 
story  about  a  little  boy,  who  died  long  ago  :  the  younger  chil- 
dren are  never  weary  of  hearing  about  him  ;  and  INIiss  Raby  has 
shown  to  one  of  them  a  lock  of  the  little  chap's  hair,  which  she 
keeps  in  her  work-box  to  this  day. 


ii)Cv^r/--':i'''!'!);;iaiil^li':5S^l^^ 


THE  DF.AR  BROTHERS. 


THE  DEAR  BROTHERS. 

gt  P^lobramii  in   Stbtval  |lounbs. 

The  Doctor. 

Mr.  Tipper,  Uncle  to  the  Masters  Boxall. 
BoxALL  Major,  Boxall  Minor,  Brown,  JoneSi, 
Smith,  Robinson,  Tiffin  Minimus. 

B.  Go  it,  old  Boxall ! 
y.  Give  it  him,  young  Boxall ! 
R.  Pitch  into  him,  old  Boxall ! 
^S".  Two  to  one  on  young  Boxall ! 

{Enter  I'iFFiN  Minimi-  i,  running. 

Tiffin  Miiiinius. — Boxalls  !  you're  wanted. 

{The  Doctor  to  Mr.  Tipper?) — Every  boy  in  the  school  loves 
them,  my  dear  sir ;  your  nephews  are  a  credit  to  my  establish- 
ment. They  are  orderly,  well-conducted,  gentleman-like  boys. 
Let  us  enter  and  find  them  at  their  studies. 

{Enter  The  Doctor  and  Mr.  Tipper, 

GRAND  TABLEAU. 

y  (83) 


A  HOPELESS  CASE. 

Let  us,  people  who  are  so  uncommonly  clever  and  learned, 
have  a  great  tenderness  and  pity  for  the  poor  folks  who  are  not 
endowed  with  the  prodigious  talents  which  we  have.  I  have 
always  had  a  regard  for  dunces  ; — those  of  my  own  school-days 
were  amongst  the  jDleasantest  of  the  fellows,  and  have  turned 
out  by  no  means  the  dullest  in  life ;  whereas  many  a  youth 
who  could  turn  off  Latin  hexameters  by  the  yard,  and  construe 
Greek  quite  glibly,  is  no  better  than  a  feeble  prig  now,  with 
not  a  pennyworth  more  brains  than  were  in  his  head  before  his 
beard  grew. 

Those  poor  dunces  !  Talk  of  being  the  last  man,  ah  !  what 
a  pang  it  must  be  to  the  last  boy — huge,  misshapen,  fourteen 
years  of  age,  and  "taken  up"  by  a  chap  who  is  but  six  years 
old,  and  can't  speak  quite  plain  yet ! 

Master  Hulker  is  in  that  condition  at  Birch's.  He  is  the 
most  honest,  kind,  active,  plucky,  generous  creature.  He  can 
do  many  things  better  than  most  boys.  He  can  go  up  a  tree, 
pump,  play  at  cricket,  dive  and  swim  perfectly — he  can  eat 
twice  as  much  as  almost  any  lady  (as  Miss  Birch  well  knows), 
he  has  a  pretty  talent  at  carving  figures  with  his  hack-knife,  he 
makes  and  paints  little  coaches,  he  can  take  a  watch  to  pieces 
and  iDut  it  together  again.  He  can  do  everything  but  learn  his 
lesson  ;  and  then  he  sticks  at  the  bottom  of  the  school  hope- 
less. As  the  little  boys  are  drafted  in  from  Miss  Raby's  class, 
(it  is  true  she  is  one  of  the  best  instructresses  in  the  world,) 
they  enter  and  hop  over  poor  Hulker.  He  would  be  handed 
over  to  the  governess,  only  he  is  too  big.  Sometimes  I  used  to 
think  that  this  desperate  stupidity  was  a  stratagem  of  the  poor 
rascal's,  and  that  he  shammed  dulness,  so  that  he  might  be  de- 
graded into  Miss  Raby's  class — if  she  would  teach  me,  I  know, 
before  George,  I  would  put  on  a  pinafore  and  a  little  jacket — 
but  no,  it  is  a  natural  incapacity  for  the  Latin  Grammar. 

If  you  could  see  this  grammar,  it  is  a  perfect  curiosity  of 
dog's  ears.  The  leaves  and  cover  are  all  curled  and  ragged. 
Many  ol  iht  pages  aie  worn  away  with  the  nibbing  of  bis  elbows 
as  he  si's  norinjr  over  the  hopeless  volume,  with  the  blows  oi  his 


nR.  BIRCH  AiVD  HIS  YOUNG  SRI  ENDS. 


87 


fists  as  he  thumps  it  madly,  or  with  the  poor  fellow's  tears. 
You  see  him  wiping  them  away  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  as 
he  tries  and  tries,  and  can't  do  it. 

When  I  think  of  that  Latin  grammar,  and  that  infernal  As 
in  praesenti,  and  of  other  things  which  I  was  made  to  learn  in 
my  youth  ;  upon  my  conscience,  I  am  surprised  that  we  ever 
survived  it.  When  one  thinks  of  the  boys  who  have  been 
caned  because  they  could  not  master  that  intolerable  jargon  ! 
Good  Lord,  what  a  pitiful  chorus  these  poor  little  creatures 
send  up !  Be  gentle  with  them,  ye  schoolmasters,  and  only 
whop  those  who  woii't  learn. 

The  Doctor  has  operated  upon  Hulker  (between  ourselves), 
but  the  boy  was  so  little  affected  you  would  ha\'e  thought  he 
had  taken  chloroform.  Birch  is  weary  of  whipping  now,  and 
leaves  the  boy  to  go  his  own  gait.  Prince,  when  he  hears  the 
lesson,  and  who  cannot  help  making  fun  of  a  fool,  adopts  the 
sarcastic  manner  with  Master  Hulker,  and  says,  "  Mr.  Hulker, 
may  I  take  the  liberty  to  inquire  if  your  brilliant  intellect  has 
enabled  you  to  perceive  the  difference  between  those  words 
which  grammarians  have  defined  as  substantive  and  adjective 
nouns  ? — if  not,  perhaps  Mr.  Ferdinand  Timmins  will  instruct 
you."     And  Timmins  hops  over  Hulker's  head. 

I  wish  Prince  would  leave  off  girding  at  the  poor  lad.  He 
is  a  boy,  and  his  mother  is  a  widow  woman,  who  loves  him 
with  all  her  might.  There  is  a  famous  sneer  about  the  suck- 
ling of  fools  and  the  chronicling  of  small  beer  •  but  remembeJ 
it  was  a  rascal  who  uttered  it 


A   WORD  ABOU2'  MISS  BIRCH. 

"  The  gentlemen,  and  especially  the  younger  and  more  ten- 
der of  these  pupils,  will  have  the  advantage  of  the  constant 
superintendence  and  affectionate  care  of  Miss  Zoe  Birch,  sister 
of  the  principal  :  whose  dearest  aim  will  be  to  supply  (as  far  as 
may  be)  the  absent  maternal  friend," — Prospectus  of  Rodzvell 
Regis  School. 

This  is  all  very  well  in  the  Doctor's  prospectus,  and  Miss 
Zoe  Birch — (a  pretty  blossom  it  is,  tifty-five  years  old,  during 
two  score  of  which  she  has  dosed  herself  with  pills  ;  with  a 
nose  as  red  and  a  face  as  sour  as  a  crab-apple) — this  is  all 
mighty  well  in  a  prospectus.  But  I  should  like  to  know  who 
would  take  Miss  Zoe  for  a  mother,  or  would  have  her  for  one  ? 

The  onl}^  persons  in  the  house  who  are  not  afraid  of  her 
are  Miss  Rosa  and  I — no,  I  am  afraid  of  her,  though  \  do  know 
the  story  about  the  French  usher  in  1830 — but  all  the  rest 
tremble  before  the  woman,  from  the  Doctor  down  to  poor 
Francis  the  knife-bo}^,  whom  she  bullies  into  his  miserable 
blacking-hole. 

The  Doctor  is  a  pompous  and  outwardly  severe  man — but 
inwardly  weak  and  easy  ;  loving  a  joke  and  a  glass  of  port-wine. 
I.  get  on  with  him,  therefore,  much  better  than  Mr.  Prince,  who 
scorns  him  for  an  ass,  and  under  whose  keen  eyes  the  worthy 
Doctor  writhes  like  a  convicted  impostor ;  and  many  a  sun- 
shiny afternoon  would  he  have  said,  ''  Mr.  T,,  sir,  shall  we  try 
another  glass  of  that  yellow  sealed  wine  which  you  seem  to 
like?  "  (and  which  he  likes  even  better  than  I  do,)  had  not  the 
old  harridan  of  a  Zoe  been  down  upon  us,  and  insisted  on 
turning  me  out  with  her  abominable  weak  cofifee.  She  a 
mother  indeed !  A  sour-milk  generation  she  would  have 
nursed.  She  is  always  croaking,  scolding,  bullying, — yowling 
at  the  housemaids,  snarling  at  Miss  Raby,  bowwowing  after 
the  little  boys,  barking  after  the  big  ones.  She  knows  how 
much  every  boy  eats  to  an  oilnce  ;  and  her  delight  is  to  ply 
with  fat  the  little  ones  who  can't  bear  it,  and  with  raw  meat 
those  who  hate  underdone.  It  was  she  who  caused  the  Doctor 
to  be  eaten  out  three  times  ;  and  nearly  created  a  rebellion  in 
the  school  because  she  insisted  on  his  flogging  Goliath  Long- 
man. 

The  only  time  that  woman  is  happy  is  when  she  comes  in 
of  a  morning  to  the  little  boys'  dormitories  with  a  cup  of  hot 
Epsom  salts,  and  a  sippet  of  bread.  Boo  ! — the  very  notion 
makes  me   quiver.     She  stands  over  them.     I  saw  her  do  it  to 

(8b) 


-^   '      -z-^- 


'ST^'^&fSi'- 


te:;i!ili:„ 


A  SERIOUS  CASE. 


DR.  BIRCH  AND  IFIS   VOU.XG  FRIENDS. 


% 


young  Byles  only  a  few  clays  since  ;  and  her  presence  makes 
the  abomination  doubly  abominable. 

As  for  attending  them  in  real  illness,  do  you  suppose  that 
she  would  watch  a  single  night  for  any  one  of  them  ?  Not  she. 
When  poor  little  Charley  Davison  (thst  child  a  lock  of  whose 
soft  hair  I  have  said  how  Miss  Raby  sti.U  keeps)  lay  ill  of  scar- 
let fever  in  the  holidays — for  the  Colonel,  the  father  of  these 
boys,  was  in  India — it  was  Anny  Raby  who  tended  the  child, 
Vvho  watched  him  all  through  the  fever,  who  never  left  him 
while  it  lasted,  or  until  she  had  closed  the  little  eyes  that  were 
never  to  brighten  or  moisten  more.  Anny  watched  and  de- 
plored him ;  but  it  was  Miss  Birch  who  wrote  the  letter  an- 
nouncing his  demise,  and  got  the  gold  chain  and  locket  which 
the  Colonel  ordered  as  a  memento  of  his  gratitude.  It  was 
through  a  row  with  Miss  Birch  that  Frank  Davison  ran  away, 
I  promise  you  that  after  he  joined  his  regiment  in  India,  the 
Ahmednuggur  Irregulars,  which  his  gallant  father  commands, 
there  came  over  no  more  annual  shawls  and  presents  to  Dr. 
and  Miss  Birch  ;  and  that  if  she  fancied  the  Colonel  was  com- 
ing home  to  marry  her  (on  account  of  her  tenderness  to  his 
motherless  children,  which  he  was  always  writing  about),  that 
.iOtion  was  very  soon  given  up.  But  these  affairs  are  of  early 
date,  seven  years  back,  and  I  only  heard  of  them  in  a  very  con- 
fused manner  from  Miss  Raby,  who  was  a  girl,  and  had  just 
come  to  Rodwell  Regis.  She  is  always  very  much  moved  when 
she  speaks  about  those  boys  ;  which  is  but  seldom.  I  take  it 
the  death  of  the  little  one  still  grieves  her  tender  heart. 

Yes,  it  is  Miss  Birch,  who  has  turned  away  seventeen 
ushers  and  second-masters  in  eleven  years,  and  half  as  many 
French  masters,  I  suppose,  since  the  departure  of  \\^x  favorite, 
M.  Grniche,  with  her  gold  watch,  «S,:c. ;  but  this  is  only  surmise 
— that  is,  from  hearsay,  and  from  Miss  Rosa  taunting  her  aunt, 
as  she  does  sometimes,  in  her  graceful  way  :  but  besides  this,  I 
have  another  way  of  keeping  her  in  order. 

Whenever  she  is  particularly  odious  or  insolent  to  Miss 
Raby,  I  have  but  to  introduce  raspberry  jam  into  the  conversa- 
tion, and  the  woman  holds  her  tongue.  She  will  understand 
me.     I  need  not  say  more. 

Note,  \2th  Dcce7nber. — I  may  speak  now.  I  have  left  the 
place  and  don't  mind.  I  say  then  at  once,  and  without  caring 
twopence  for  the  consequences,  that  I  saw  this  woman,  this 
mother  of  the  boys,  eating  jam  with  a  spoon  out  of  Master 
Wiggins'  trunk  in  the  box-room  :  and  of  this  I  am  ready  to 
take  an  affidavit  any  day. 


A  TRAGEDY. 

IHE    DRAMA    OUGHT   TO    BE    REPRESENTED    IN     ABOUT    SIX   ACTS 

\The  school  is  hushed  Lawrence  the  Prefect,  aftd  Citstos  of  the  rods,  h 
marching  after  the  Doctor  into  the  operating-roam.  Master  Back- 
house is  about  tofollffiu^ 

Master  Backhouse. — It's  all  \'ery  well,  but  you  see  if  I  don't 
pay  you  out  after  school — you  sneak  you  ! 
Master  Lurcher, — If  you  do  I'll  tell  again. 

\Exit  Backhouse. 

\The  rod  is  heard  from  the  adjoining  apartment.  Hwhish — hzohisk — hwish-^ 
h  wish — hwish — hzuish — hwisk  ! 

[Re-enter  Backhouse 


,^^.,01.  u:;::!,V?:-;^i\\:\;/;i|i;il\^y/i[i M:vi$^J!(V 


A  HAMPER  FOR  BRIGGS  S. 

7* 


BRIGGS  IN  L  UCK. 

£nier  the  Knife-boy. — Hamper  for  Briggses  ! 
Master  Brown. — Hurry,    Tom   Briggs  1    I'll   lend   you   m)i 
knife. 


If  this  story  does  not  carry  its  own  moral,  what  fable  does, 
I  wonder  ?  Before  the  arrival  of  that  hamper,  Master  Briggs 
was  in  no  better  repute  than  any  young  gentleman  of  the  lower 
school ;  and  in  fact  I  had  occasion  myself,  only  lately,  to  cor- 
rect Master  Brown  for  kicking  his  friend's  shins  during  the 
writing-lesson.  But  how  this  basket,  directed  by  his  mother's 
housekeeper  and  marked  "  Glass  with  care,"  (whence  I  con- 
cluded that  it  contains  some  jam  and  some  bottles  of  wine, 
probably,  as  well  as  the  usual  cake  and  game-pie,  and  half  a 
sovereign  for  the  elder  Master  B.,  and  five  new  shillings  for 
Master  Decimus  Briggs) — how,  I  say,  the  arrival  of  this  basket 
alters  all  Master  Briggs's  circumstances  in  life,  and  the  estima- 
tion in  which  many  persons  regard  him ! 

If  he  is  a  good-hearted  boy,  as  I  have  reason  to  think,  the 
very  first  thing  he  will  do,  before  inspecting  the  contents  of 
the  hamper,  or  cutting  into  them  with  the  knife  which  Master 
Brown  has  so  considerately  lent  him,  will  be  to  read  over  the 
letter  from  home  which  lies  on  the  top  of  the  parcel.  He  does 
s-o,  as  I  remark  to  Miss  Raby  (for  whom  I  happened  to  be 
mending  pens  when  the  little  circumstance  arose),  with  a  flushed 
face  and  winking  eyes.  Look  how  the  other  boys  are  peering 
into  the  basket  as  he  reads. — I  say  to  her,  "  Isn't  it  a  pretty 
picture  ?  "  Part  of  the  letter  is  in  a  very  large  hand.  This  is 
from  his  little  sister.  And  I  would  wager  that  she  netted  the 
little  purse  which  he  has  just  taken  out  of  it,  and  which  Master 
Lynx  is  eyeing. 

"  You  are  a  droll  man,  and  remark  all  sorts  of  queer  things," 
Miss  Raby  says,  smiling,  and  plying  her  swift  needle  and 
fingers  as  quick  as  possible. 

"  I  am  glad  we  are  both  on  the  spot,  and  that  tl;e  little  fel- 

(91) 


92 


DR.  BIRCH  AXD  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


low  lies  under  our  guns  as  it  were,  and  so  is  protected  from 
some  such  brutal  school-pirate  as  young  Duval  for  instance, 
who  would  rob  him,  probably,  of  some  of  those  good  things  \ 
good  in  themselves,  and  better  because  fresh  from  home.  See, 
there  is  a  pie  as  I  said,  and  which  I  dare  say  is  better  than 
those  which  are  served  at  our  table  (but  you  never  take  any 
notice  of  such  kind  of  things,  Miss  Raby),  a  cake  of  course,  a 
bottle  of  currant-wine,  jam-pots,  and  no  end  of  pears  in  the 
straw.  With  their  money  little  Briggs  will  be  able  to  pay  the 
tick  which  that  impudent  child  has  run  up  with  Mrs.  Ruggles  ; 
and  I  shall  let  Briggs  Major  pay  for  the  pencil-case  which 
Bullock  sold  to  him. — It  will  be  a  lesson  to  the  young  prodigal 
for  the  future.  But,  I  say,  what  a  change  there  will  be  in  his 
life  for  some  time  to  come,  and  at  least  until  his  present  wealth 
is  spent !  The  boys  who  bully  him  will  mollify  towards  him, 
and  accept  his  pie  and  sweetmeats.  They  will  have  feasts  in 
the  bedroom  ;  and  that  wine  will  taste  more  delicious  to  them 
than  the  best  out  of  the  Doctor's  cellar.  The  cronies  will  be 
invited.  Young  Master  Wagg  will  tell  his  most  dreadful  story 
and  sing  his  best  song  for  a  slice  of  that  pie.  What  a  jolly 
night  they  will  have  !  When  we  go  the  rounds  at  night,  Mr. 
Prince  and  I  will  take  care  to  make  a  noise  before  we  come  to 
Briggs's  room,  so  that  the  boys  may  have  time  to  put  the  light 
out,  to  push  the  things  away,  and  to  scud  into  bed.  Doctor  Spry 
may  be  put  in  requisition  the  next  morning." 

"  Nonsense !  you  absurd  creature,"  cries  out  Miss  Raby, 
laughing ;  and  I  lay  down  the  twelfth  pen  very  nicely  mended. 

"  Yes  \  after  luxury  comes  the  doctor,  I  say  ;  after  extrava- 
gance a  hole  in  the  breeches-pocket.  To  judge  from  his  dis- 
position, Briggs  Major  will  not  be  much  better  off  a  couple  of 
days  hence  than  he  is  now  ;  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  will  end 
life  a  poor  man.  Brown  will  be  kicking  his  shins  before  a 
week  is  over,  depend  upon  it.  There  are  boys  and  men  of  all 
sorts,  Miss  R. — There  are  selfish  sneaks  who  hoard  until  the 
store  they  daren't  use  grows  mouldy — there  are  spendthrifts 
who  fling  away,  parasites  who  flatter  and  lick  its  shoes,  and 
snarling  curs  who  hate  and  envy,  good  fortune." 

I  jDut  down  the  last  of  the  pens,  brushing  away  with  it  the 
quill-chips  from  her  desk  first,  and  she  looked  at  me  with  a 
kind,  wondering  face.  I  brushed  them  away,  clicked  the  pen- 
knife into  my  pocket,  made  her  a  bow,  and  walked  <}ff — for  the 
bell  was  ringing  for  school. 


SURE  TO  SUCCEKIi  IN   LIKE. 


A  YOUNG  FELLOW  WHO  LS  PRETTY  SURE  TO 
SUCCEED. 

If  Master  Brvggs  is  destined  in  all  probability  to  be  a  pooi 
man,  the  chances  are  that  Mr.  Bullock  will  have  a  very  dif- 
ferent lot.  He  is  a  son  of  a  partner  of  the  eminent  banking 
firm  of  Bullock  and  Hulker,  Lombard  Street,  and  very  high  in 
the  upper  school — quite  out  of  my  jurisdiction,  consequently. 

He  writes  the  most  beautiful  current-hand  ever  seen  ;  and 
the  way  in  which  he  mastered  arithmetic  (going  away  into 
recondite  and  wonderful  rules  in  the  Tutor's  Assistant,  which 
some  masters  even  dare  not  approach,)  is  described  by  the 
Doctor  in  terms  of  admiration.  He  is  Mr.  Prince's  best 
algebra  pupil  ;  and  a  very  fair  classic,  too  ;  doing  ever3^thing 
well  for  which  he  has  a  mind. 

He  does  not  busy  himself  with  the  sports  of  his  comrades, 
and  holds  a  cricket-bat  no  better  than  Miss  Raby  would.  He 
employs  the  play-hours  in  improving  his  mind,  and  reading  the 
newspaper  ;  he  is  a  profound  politician,  and,  it  must  be  owned, 
on  the  Liberal  side.  The  elder  boys  despise  him  rather  ;  and 
when  Champion  Major  passes,  he  turns  his  head,  and  looks 
down.  I  don't  like  the  expression  of  Bullock's  narrow,  green 
eyes,  as  they  follow  the  elder  Champion,  who  does  not  seem  to 
know  or  care  how  much  the  other  hates  him. 

No.  Mr.  Bullock,  though  perhaps  the  cleverest  and  most 
accomplished  boy  in  the  school,  associates  with  the  quiet  little 
.boys  when  he  is  minded  for  society.  To  these  he  is  quite 
affable,  courteous,  and  winning.  He  never  fagged  or  thrashed 
one  of  them.  He  has  done  the  verses  and  corrected  the  exer- 
cises of  many,  and  many  is  the  little  lad  to  whom  he  has  lent 
a  little  money. 

It  is  true  he  charges  at  the  rale  of  a  penny  a  week  for 
every  sixpence  lent  out ;  but  many  a  fellow  to  whom  tarts  are  a 
present  necessity  is  happy  to  pay  this  interest  for  the  loan. 
These  transactions  are  kept  secret.  Mr.  Bullock,  in  rather  a 
whining  tone,  when  he  takes  Master  Green  aside  and  does  the 
requisite  business  for  him,  says,  "  You  know  you'll  go  and  talk 
Eiboui"  ic  averywnere^     1  don't  wane  to  lend  you  the  money   I 


94 


DR.  BIRCH  AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


want  to  bu}^  something  with  it.  It's  only  to  oblige  you  ;  and 
yet  I  am  sure  you  will  go  and  make  fun  of  me."  Whereon,  of 
course,  Green,  eager  for  the  money,  vows  solemnly  that  the 
transaction  shall  be  confidential,  and  only  speaks  when  the 
payment  of  the  interest  becomes  oppressive. 

Thus  it  is  that  Mr.  Bullock  s  practices  are  at  all  known.  At 
a  very  early  period,  indeed,  his  commercial  genius  manifested 
itself:  and  by  happy  speculations  in  toffey  ;  by  composing  a 
sweet  drink  made  of  stick-liquorice  and  brown  sugar,  and 
selling  it  at  a  profit  to  the  young  children  ;  by  purchasing  a 
series  of  novels,  which  he  let  out  at  an  adequate  remuneration  ; 
by  doing  boys'  exercises  for  a  penny,  and  other  processes,  he 
showed  the  bent  of  his  mind.  At  the  end  of  the  half-year  he 
alwavs  went  home  richer  than  when  he  arrived  at  school,  with 
his  purse  full  of  money. 

Nobody  knows  how  much  he  brought  :  but  the  accounts  are 
fabulous.  Twenty,  thirty,  fifty — it  is  impossible  to  say  how 
many  sovereigns.  When  joked  about  his  money,  he  turns  pale 
and  swears  he  has  not  a  shilling  :  whereas  he  has  had  a  banker's 
account  ever  since  he  was  thirteen. 

At  the  present  moment  he  is  employed  in  negotiating  the 
sale  of  a  knife  with  Master  Green,  and  is  pointing  out  to  the 
latter  the  beauty  of  the  six  blades,  and  that  he  need  not  pay 
until  after  the  holidays. 

ChamiDion  Major  has  sworn  that  he  will  break  every  bone 
in  his  skm  the  next  time  that  he  cheats  a  little  boy,  and  is 
bearing  down  upon  him.  Let  us  come  away.  It  is  frightful 
to  see  that  big  peaceful  clever  coward  moaning  under  well- 
deserved  blows  and  whining  for  mercy. 


•VHE  PIKATE. 


DUVAL  THE  PIRATE. 

Jones  '^'[.i'^\.'^\.\5% passes,  laden  with  tarts. 

Duval. — Hullo  !  you  small  boy  with  the  tarts  !  Come  here, 
sir. 

jfones  Minimus. — Please,  Duval,  they  ain't  mine. 
Duval. — Oh,  you  abominable  young  story-teller. 

\ 

\He  confiscates  the  goods. 

I  think  I  like  young  Duval's  mode  of  levying  contributions 
better  than  Bullock's.  The  former's,  at  least,  has  the  merit 
cf  more  candor.  Duval  is  the  pirate  of  Birch's,  and  lies  in 
wait  for  small  boys  laden  with  money  or  provender.  He  scents 
plunder  from  afar  off :  and  pounces  out  on  it.  Woe  betide 
the  little  fellow  when  Duval  boards  him  1 

There  was  a  youth  here  whose  money  I  used  to  keep,  as  he 
was  of  an  extravagant  and  weak  taste  ;  and  I  doled  it  out  to 
him  in  weekly  shillings,  sufficient  for  the  purchase  of  the  neces- 
sary tarts.  This  boy  came  to  me  one  day  for  half  a  sovereign, 
for  a  very  particular  purpose,  he  said.  I  afterwards  found  he 
wanted  to  lend  the  money  to  Duval. 

The  young  ogre  burst  out  laughing,  when  in  a  great  wrath 
and  fury  I  ordered  him  to  refund  io  the  little  boy  :  and  pro- 
posed a  bill  of  exchange  at  three  months.  It  is  true  Duval's 
father  does  not  pay  the  Doctor,  and  the  lad  never  has  a  shil- 
ling, save  that  which  he  levies  ;  and  though  he  is  always  brag- 
ging about  the  splendor  of  Freenystown,  Co.  Cork,  and  the  fox- 
hounds his  father  keeps,  and  the  claret  they  drink  there — there 
comes  no  remittance  from  Castle  Freeny  in  these  bad  times  to 
the  honest  Doctor ;  who  is  a  kindly  man  enough,  and  never 
yet  turned  an  insolent  boy  out  of  doors. 

(95) 


THE  DORMITORIES. 

MASTER    HEWLETT    AND    MASTER    NIGHTINGALE. 

( Rather  a  cold  winter  night. ) 

Hewlett  {flinging  a  sJioe  at  Master  Nightingale  s  bed,  loith 
which  he  hits  that  young  gentleman). — Hullo,  you  !  Get  up  and 
bring  me  that  shoe  ! 

Nightingale. — Yes,  Hewlett.     {He gets  up'.) 

Heivlett. — Don't  drop  it,  and  be  very  careful  of  it,  sir. 

Nigh  tin  gale. — Yes,  Hewlett. 

Hewlett. — Silence  in  the  dormitory  I  Any  boy  who  opens  his 
mouth,  I'll  inurder  him.  Now,  Sir,  are  not  you  the  boy  what 
can  sing  ? 

Nightingale. — Yes,  Hewlett. 

Hewlett. — Chaunt,  then,  till  I  go  to  sleep,  and  if  1  wake 
when  you  stop,  you'll  have  this  at  your  head. 

[Master  Hewlett  /(/yx  his  Blitehers  on  the  bed,  ready  to  sity  't!. 
Master  Nightingale  s  head  in  the  case  contcniplatedi\ 

Nighthigale  {timidly). — Please,  Hewlett  ? 
•  Hewlett.— ^^A,  sir  ? 
Nightingale. — May  I  put  on  my  trousers,  please  ? 

Hewlett. — No,  sir  !     Go  on,  or  I'll 

Nightingale. — 

"  Through  pleasures  and  palaces 
Though  we  may  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble 
There's  no  place  like  home." 

(<16) 


A    RESCUE. 


A  CAPTURE  AND  A  RESCUE. 

My  young  friend,  Patrick  Champion,  George's  youngei 
brother,  is  a  late  arrival  among  us ;  has  much  of  the  family 
quality  and  good  nature  ;  is  not  in  the  least  a  tyrant  to  the 
small  boys,  but  is  as  eager  as  Amadis  to  fight.  He  is  boxing 
his  way  up  the  school,  emulating  his  great  brother.  He  fixes 
his  eye  on  a  boy  above  him  in  strength  or  size,  and  you  hear 
somehow  that  a  difference  has  arisen  between  them  at  football, 
and  they  have  their  coats  off  presently.  He  has  thrashed  him- 
self over  the  heads  of  many  youths  in  this  manner :  for  in- 
stance, if  Champion  can  lick  Dobson,  who  can  thrash  Hobson, 
how  much  more,  then,  can  he  thrash  Hobson  ?  Thus  he  works 
up  and  establishes  his  position  in  the  school.  Nor  does  Mr, 
Prince  think  it  advisable  that  we  ushers  should  walk  much  in 
the  way  when  these  little  differences  are  being  settled,  unless 
there  is  some  gross  disparity,  or  danger  is  apprehended. 

For  instance,  I  own  to  having  seen  the  row  depicted  here  as 
I  was  shaving  at  my  bedroom  window.  I  did  not  hasten  down 
to  prevent  its  consequences.  Fogle  had  confiscated  a  top,  the 
property  of  Snivins  ;  the  which,  as  the  little  wretch  was  always 
pegging  it  at  my  toes,  I  did  not  regret.  Snivins  whimpered  j 
and  young  Champion  came  up,  lusting  for  battle.  Directly  he 
made  out  Fogle,  he  steered  for  him,  pulling  up  his  coat-sleeves, 
and  clearing  for  action. 

"  Who  spoke  to  you,  young  Champion  ?  "  Fogle  said,  and 
he  flung  down  the  top  to  Master  Snivins.  I  knew  there  would 
be  no  fight ;  and  perhaps  Champion,  too,  was  disappointed. 

(97) 


THE  GARDEN, 

WHERE   THE    PARLOR-BOARDERS   GO. 

Noblemen  have  been  rather  scarce  at  Birch's — but  the  heii 
of  a  great  Prince  has  been  living  with  the  Doctor  for  some  years. 
— He  is  Lord  George  Gaunt's  eldest  son,  the  noble  Plantagenet 
Gaunt  Gaunt,  and  nephew  of  the  Most  Honorable  the  Marquis 
of  Steyne. 

They  are  very  proud  of  him  at  the  Doctor's — and  the  two 
Misses  and  Papa,  whenever  a  stranger  comes  down  whom  they 
want  to  dazzle,  are  pretty  sure  to  bring  Lord  Steyne  into  the 
conversation,  mention  the  last  party  at  Gaunt  House,  and  cur- 
sorily to  remark  that  they  have  with  them  a  young  friend  who 
will  be,  in  all  human  probability,  Marquis  of  Steyne  and  Earl 
of  Gaunt,  &c. 

Plantagenet  does  not  care  much  about  these  future  honors : 
provided  he  can  get  some  brown  sugar  on  his  bread-and-butter, 
or  sit  with  three  chairs  and  play  at  coach-and-horses  quite 
quietly  by  himself,  he  is  tolerably  happy.  He  saunters  in  and 
out  of  school  when  he  likes,  and  looks  at  the  master  and  other 
boys  with  a  listless  grin.  He  used  to  be  taken  to  church,  but 
he  laughed  and  talked  in  odd  places,  so  they  arc  forced  to  leave 
him  at  home  now.  He  will  sit  with  a  bit  of  string  and  play 
cat's-cradle  for  many  hours.  He  likes  to  go  and  join  the  very 
small  children  at  their  games.  Some  are  frightened  at  him  \ 
but  they  soon  cease  to  fear,  and  order  him  about.  I  have  seen 
him  go  and  fetch  tarts  from  Mrs.  Ruggles  for  a  boy  of  eight 
years  old  ;  and  cry  bitterly  if  he  did  not  get  a  piece.  He  can- 
not speak  quite  plain,  but  very  nearly  ;  and  is  not  more,  I  sup- 
pose, than  three-and-twenty. 

Of  course  at  home  they  know  his  age,  though  they  never 
come  and  see  him.  But  they  forget  that  Miss  Rosa  Birch  is 
no  longer  a  young  chit,  as  she  was  ten  years  ago,  when  Gaunt 
was  brought  to  the  school.  On  the  contrary,  she  has  had  no 
small  experience  in  the  tender  passion,  and  is  at  this  moment 
smitten  with  a  disinterested  affection  for  Plantagenet  Gaunt. 

Next  to  a  little  doll  with  a  burnt  nose,  which  he  hides  away 

(oS) 


PR.  BIRCH  AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


99 


In  cunning  places,  Mr.  Gaunt  is  very  fond  of  Miss  Rosa  too. 

What  a  pretty  match  it  would  make !  and  how  pleased  they 
would  be  at  Gaunt  House,  if  the  grandson  and  heir  of  the 
great  Marquis  of  Steyne,  the  descendant  of  a  hundred  Gaunts 
and  Tudors,  should  marry  Miss  Birch,  the  schoolmaster's 
daughter !  It  is  true  she  has  the  sense  on  her  side,  and  poor 
Plantagenet  is  only  an  idiot :  but  there  he  is,  a  zany,  with  such 
expectations  and  such  a  pedigree  ! 

If  Miss  Rosa  would  run  away  with  Mr.  Gaunt,  she  would 
leave  off  bullying  her  cousin,  Miss  Anny  Raby.  Shall  I  put 
her  up  to  the  notion,  and  offer  to  lend  her  the  money  to  run 
away."*  Mr.  Gaunt  is  not  allowed  money.  He  had  some  once, 
but  Bullock  took  him  into  a  corner,  and  got  it  from  him.  He 
has  a  moderate  tick  opened  at  a  tart-woman's.  He  stops  at 
Rodwell  Regis  through  the  year :  school-time  and  holiday-time, 
it  is  all  the  same  to  him.  Nobody  asks  about  him,  or  thinks 
about  him,  save  twice  a  year,  when  the  Doctor  goes  to  Gaunt 
House,  and  gets  the  amount  of  his  bills,  and  a  glass  of  wine  in 
the  steward's  room. 

And  yet  you  see  somehow  that  he  is  a  gentleman.  His 
manner  is  different  to  that  of  the  owners  of  that  coarse  table 
and  parlor  at  which  he  is  a  boarder  (I  do  not  speak  of  Miss 
.R.  of  course,  ior  /ler  manners  are  as  good  as  those  of  a  duchess). 
When  he  caught  Miss  Rosa  boxing  little  Fiddes's  ears,  his  face 
grew  red,  and  he  broke  into  a  fierce  inarticulate  rage.  After 
that,  and  for  some  days,  he  used  to  shrink  from  lier ;  but  they 
are  reconciled  now.  I  saw  them  this  afternoon  in  the  garden 
where  only  the  parlor-boarders  walk.  He  was  playful,  and 
touched  her  with  his  stick.  She  raised  her  handsome  eyes  in 
surprise,  and  smiled  on  him  very  kindly. 

The  thing  was  so  clear,  that  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  speak 
to  old  Zoe  about  it.  The  wicked  old  ca.amaran  told  me  she 
wished  that  some  people  would  mind  their  own  business,  and 
hold  their  tongues — that  some  persons  Were  paid  to  teach 
writing,  and  not  to  tell  tales  and  make  mischief:  and  I  have 
since  been  thinking  whether  I  ought  to  communicate  with  the 
Doctor.  8 


THE  OLD  PUPIL. 

As  I  came  into  the  play-grounds  this  morning,  I  saw  a  dash 
ing  young  fellow,  with  a  tanned  face  and  a  blonde  mustache, 
who  was  walking  up  and  down  the  green  arm-in-arm  with  Cham 
pion  Major,  and  followed  by  a  little  crowd  of  boys. 

They  were  talking  of  old  times  evidently.  "  What  had  be- 
come of  Irvine  and  Smith  1 " — "  Where  was  Bill  Harris  and 
Jones  :  not  Squinny  Jones,  but  Cocky  Jones  ?  " — and  so  forth. 
The  gentleman  was  no  stranger ;  he  was  an  old  pupil  evidently, 
come  to  see  if  any  of  his  old  comrades  remained,  and  revisit 
the  cari  luoghi  of  his  youth. 

Champion  was  evidently  proud  of  his  arm-fellow.  He  es- 
pied his  brother,  young  Champion,  and  introduced  him.  "  Come 
here,  sir,"  he  called.  "  That  young  'un  wasn't  here  in  your 
time,  Davison."  "  Pat,  sir,"  said  he,  "  this  is  Captain  Davison, 
one  of  Birch's  boys.  Ask  him  who  was  among  the  first  in  the 
lines  at  Sobraon  ?  " 

Pat's  face  kindled  up  as  he  looked  Davison  full  in  the  face, 
and  held  out  his  hand.  Old  Champion  and  Davison  both 
blushed.  The  infantry  set  up  a  "  Hurray,  hurray,  hurray," 
Champion  leading,  and  waving  his  wide-awake,  I  protest  that 
the  scene  did  one  good  to  witness.  Here  was  the  hero  and 
cock  of  the  school  come  back  to  see  his  old  haunts  and  cronies. 
He  had  always  remembered  them.  Since  he  had  seen  them 
last,  he  had  faced  death  and  achieved  honor.  But  for  my 
dignity  I  would  have  shied  up  my  hat  too. 

With  a  resolute  step,  and  his  arm  still  linked  in  Cham- 
pion's, Captain  Davison  now  advanced,  followed  by  a  wake  of 
little  boys,  to  that  corner  of  the  green  where  Mrs.  Ruggles  has 
her  tart-stand. 

"  Hullo,  Mother  Ruggles  !  don't  you  remember  me  ?  "  he 
said,  and  shook  her  by  the  hand. 

"Lor',  if  it  ain't  Davison  Major!  "  she  said.  "  Well,  Davi- 
son Major,  you  owe  me  fourpence  for  two  sausage-rolls  from 
when  you  went  away." 

Davison  laughed,  and  all  the  lillle  crew  of  buys  set  up  a 
similar  chorus. 

(loo) 


DR.  BIRCH  AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS.  joi 

"  I  buy  the  whole  shop,"  he  said.  "  Now,  young  uns — eat 
away  !  " 

Then  there  was  such  a  "  Hurray  !  hurray  !  "  as  surpassed 
the  former  cheer  in  loudness.  Everybody  engaged  in  it  except 
Piggy  DufT,  who  made  an  instant  dash  at  the  three-cornered 
puffs,  but  was  stopped  by  Champion,  who  said  there  should  be 
a  fair  distribution.  And  so  there  was,  and  no  one  lacked, 
neither  of  raspberry,  open  tarts,  nor  of  mellifluous  bulls'-eyes, 
nor  of  polonies,  beautiful  to  the  sight  and  taste. 

The  hurraying  brought  out  the  old  Doctor  himself,  \vho«put 
his  hand  up  to  his  spectacles  and  started  when  he  saw  the  old 
pupil.  Each  blushed  when  he  recognized  the  other ;  for  seven 
years  ago  they  had  parted  not  good  friends. 

"  What  —  Davison  ?  "  the  Doctor  said,  with  a  tremulous 
voice.  "  God  bless  you,  my  dear  fellow  ! " — and  they  shook 
hands.  "  A  half-holiday,  of  course,  boys,"  he  added,  and  there 
was  another  hurray :  there  was  to  be  no  end  to  the  cheering 
that  day. 

"  How's — how's  the  family,  sir?  "  Captain  Davison  asked. 

"  Come  in  and  see.  Rosa's  grown  quite  a  lady.  Dine 
with  us,  of  course.  Champion  Major,  come  to  dinner  at  five. 
Mr.  Titmarsh,  the  pleasure  of  your  company  ?  "  The  Doctor 
swung  open  the  garden-gate  :  the  old  master  and  pupil  entered 
the  house  reconciled. 

I  thought  I  would  first  peep  into  Miss  Raby's  room,  and 
tell  her  of  this  event.  She  was  working  away  at  her  linen 
there,  as  usual  quiet  and  cheerful. 

"  You  should  put  up,"  I  said  with  a  smile  ;  "  the  Doctor 
has  given  us  a  half-holiday." 

"  I  never  have  holidays,"  Miss  Raby  replied. 

Then  I  told  her  of  the  scene  I  had  just  witnessed,  of  the 
arrival  of  the  old  pupil,  the  purchase  of  the  tarts,  the  procla- 
mation of  the  holiday,  and  the  shouts  of  the  boys  of  "  Hurray, 
Davison  ! ''' 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  cried  out  Miss  Raby,  starting  and  turning 
as  white  as  a  sheet. 

I  told  her  it  was  Captain  Davison  from  India ;  and  de- 
scribed the  appearance  and  behavior  of  the  Captain.  When  t 
had  finished  speaking,  she  asked  me  to  go  and  get  her  a  glass 
of  water ;  she  felt  unwell.  But  she  was  gone  when  I  came 
back  with  the  water. 

I  know  all  now.  After  sitting  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
with  the  Doctor,  who  attributed  his  guest's  uneasiness  no  doubt 
to  his  desire  to  see  Miss  Rosa  Birch,  Davison  started  up  and 


i02 


DR.  BIRCH  AND  HIS   YOUNG  FRIENDS. 


said  he  wanted  to  see  Miss  Raby.  "  You  remember,  sir,  how 
kind  she  was  to  my  little  brother,  sir  ?  "  he  said.  Whereupon 
the  Doctor,  with  a  look  of  surprise,  that  anybody  should  want 
to  see  Miss  Raby,  said  she  was  in  the  little  school-room  ; 
whither  the  Captain  went,  knowing  the  way  from  old  times. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  Miss  B.  and  Miss  Z.  returned 
from  a  drive  with  Plantagenet  Gaunt  in  their  one-horse  fly,  and 
being  informed  of  Davison's  arrival,  and  that  he  was  closeted 
with  Miss  Raby  in  the  little  school-room,  of  course  made  for 
that  apartment  at  once.  I  was  coming  into  it  from  the  other 
door.     I  wanted  to  know  whether  she  had  drunk  the  water. 

lliis  is  what  both  parties  saw.  The  two  were  in  this  very 
attitude.  "  Well,  upon  my  word  !  "  cries  out  Miss  Zoe  ;  but 
Davison  did  not  let  go  his  hold  ;  and  Miss  Raby's  head  only 
sank  down  on  his  hand. 

"  You  must  get  another  governess,  sir,  for  the  little  boys," 
Frank  Davison  said  to  the  Doctor.  "  Anny  Raby  has  promised 
to  come  with  me." 

You  may  suppose  I  shut  to  the  door  on  my  side.  And 
when  I  returned  to  the  little  school-room,  it  was  black  and 
empty.  Everybody  was  gone.  I  could  hear  the  boys  shouting 
at  play  in  the  green  outside.  The  glass  of  water  was  on  the 
table  where  I  had  placed  it.  I  took  it  and  drank  it  myself,  to 
the  health  of  Anny  Raby  and  her  husband.  It  was  rather  a 
choker. 

But  of  course  I  wasn't  going  to  stop  on  at  Birch's.  When 
his  young  friends  reassemble  on  the  ist  of  February  next,  they 
will  have  two  new  masters.  Prince  resigned  too,  and  is  at 
present  living  with  me  at  my  old  lodgings  at  Mrs.  Cammysole's. 
If  any  nobleman  or  gentleman  wants  a  private  tutor  for  his  son, 
a  note  to  the  Rev.  F,  Prince  will  find  him  there. 

Miss  Clapperclaw  says  we  are  both  a  couple  of  old  fools ; 
and  that  she  knew  when  I  set  off  last  year  to  Rodwell  Regis, 
after  meeting  the  two  young  ladies  at  a  party  at  General  Cham- 
pion's house  in  our  street,  that  I  was  going  on  a  goose's  errand. 
I  shall  dine  there  on  Christmas-day ;  and  so  I  wish  a  meiry 
Christmas  to  all  young  and  old  boys. 


WANTED,  A  GOVERNESS. 


EPILOGUE. 

The  play  is  done  ;  the  curtain  drops, 
Slow  falling,  to  the  prompter's  bell  : 
A  moment  j-et  the  actor  stops, 
And  looks  around,  to  say  farewell. 
It  is  an  irksome  word  and  task  ; 
And  when  he's  laughed  and  said  his  say, 
He  shows,  as  he  removes  the  mask, 
A  face  that's  anything  but  gay. 

One  word,  ere  yet  the  evening  ends. 
Let's  close  it  with  a  parting  rhyme, 
And  pledge  a  hand  to  all  young  friends, 
As  fits  the  merry  Christmas  time. 
On  life's  wide  scene  you,  too,  have  parts. 
That  Fate  ere  long  shall  bid  you  play  ; 
Good-night !  with  honest  gentle  hearts 
A  kindly  greeting  go  alway  ! 

Good-night !  I'd  say  the  griefs,  the  joys. 
Just  hinted  in  this  mimic  page, 
The  triumphs  and  defeats  of  boys. 
Are  but  repeated  in  our  age. 
I'd  say,  your  woes  were  not  less  keen, 
Your  hopes  more  vain,  than  those  of  mer 
Your  pangs  or  pleasures  of  fifteen, 
At  forty-five  played  o'er  again. 

I'd  say,  we  suffer  and  we  strive 
Not  less  nor  more  as  men  than  boys, 
With  grizzled  beards  at  forty-five. 
As  erst  at  twelve,  in  corduroys. 
And  if,  in  time  of  sacred  youth, 
We  learned  at  home  to  love  and  pray, 
Pray  heaven,  that  early  love  and  truth 
May  never  wholly  pass  away. 

(103) 


IC4  ^^   BIRCH  AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 

And  in  the  world,  as  in  the  school, 

I'd  say,  how  fate  may  change  and  shift  • 

The  prize  be  sometimes  with  the  fool, 

The  race  not  always  to  the  swift. 

The  strong  may  yield,  the  good  may  fall, 

The  great  man  be  a  vulgar  clown, 

The  knave  be  lifted  over  all, 

The  kind  cast  pitilessly  down. 

Who  knows  the  inscrutable  design  ? 

Blessed  be  He  who  took  and  gave  : 

Why  should  your  mother,  Charles,  not  mine, 

Be  weeping  at  her  darling's  grave  ?  * 

We  bow  to  heaven  that  will'd  it  so, 

That  darkly  rules  the  fate  of  all. 

That  sends  the  respite  or  the  blow, 

That's  free  to  give  or  to  recall. 

This  crowns  his  feast  with  wine  and  wit : 
Who  brought  him  to  that  mirth  and  state  ? 
His  betters,  see,  below  him  sit, 
Or  hunger  hopeless  at  the  gate. 
Who  bade  the  mud  from  Dives'  wheel 
To  spurn  the  rags  of  Lazarus  ? 
Come,  brother,  in  that  dust  we'll  kneel, 
Confessing  heaven  that  ruled  it  thus. 

So  each  shall  mourn  in  life's  advance, 
Dear  hopes,  dear  friends,  untimely  killed] 
Shall  grieve  for  many  a  forfeit  chance, 
A  longing  passion  unfulfilled. 
Amen  :  whatever  Fate  be  sent, — 
Pray  God  the  heart  may  kindly  glow. 
Although  the  head  with  cares  be  bent, 
And  whitened  with  the  winter  snow. 

Come  wealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill, 
Let  young  and  old  accept  their  part, 
And  bow  before  the  Awful  Will, 
And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart. 

*  C.  B.,  ob  Dec.  1843,  ast.  42. 


DR.  BIRCH  AND  HIS  YOUNG  FRIENDS. 

Who  misses,  or  who  wins  the  prize  ? 
Go,  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can : 
But  if  you  fail,  or  if  you  rise, 
Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman, 

A  geatleman,  or  old  or  young  : 
(Bear  kindly  with  my  humble  lays), 
The  sacred  chorus  first  was  sung 
Upon  the  first  of  Christmas  days. 
The  shepherds  heard  it  overhead — 
The  joyful  angels  raised  it  then  : 
Glory  to  heaven  on  high,  it  said, 
And  joeace  on  earth  to  gentle  men. 

My  song,  save  this,  is  little  worth ; 

I  lay  the  weary  pen  aside. 

And  wish  you  health,  and  love,  and  mirth, 

As  fits  the  solemn  Christmas  tide. 

As  fits  the  holy  Christmas  birth. 

Be  this,  good  friends,  our  carol  still — 

Be  peace  on  earth,  be  peace  on  earth, 

To  men  of  sentle  will. 


£ND  OK  "dr.  birch  and  his  young  friends. 
8* 


l°5 


THE    KICKLEBURYS 

ON    THE    RHINE. 


By   Mr.   M.   A.  TITMARSH. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION 

BEING 

AN  ESS  A  Y  ON  THUNDER  AND  SMALL  BEER. 

Any  reader  who  may  have  a  fancy  to  purchase  a  copy  of 
this  present  edition  of  the  "  History  of  the  Kickleburys 
Abroad,"  had  best  be  warned  in  time,  that  the  Times  news- 
paper does  not  approve  of  the  work,  and  has  but  a  bad  opinion 
both  of  the  author  and  his  readers.  Nothing  can  be  fairer  than 
this  statement :  if  you  happen  to  take  up  the  poor  Httle  volume 
at  a  railroad  station,  and  read  this  sentence,  lay  the  book  down, 
and  buy  something  else.  You  are  warned.  What  more  can 
the  author  say  ?  If  after  this  you  will  buy, — amen  !  pay  your 
money,  take  your  book,  and  fall  to.  Between  ourselves,  honest 
reader,  it  is  no  very  strong  potation  which  the  present  purveyor 
offers  to  you.  It  will  not  trouble  your  head  much  in  the  drink- 
ing. It  was  intended  for  that  sort  of  negus  which  is  offered  at 
Christmas  parties  ;  and  of  which  ladies  and  children  may  par- 
take with  refreshment  and  cheerfulness.  Last  year  I  tried  a 
brew  which  was  old,  bitter,  and  strong ;  and  scarce  any  one 
would  drink  it.  This  year  we  send  round  a  milder  tap,  and  it  is 
liked  by  customers  :  though  the  critics  (who  like  strong  ale, 
the  rogues  !)  turn  up  their  noses.  In  heaven's  name,  Mr, 
Smith,  serve  round  the  liquor  to  the  gentlefolks.  Pray,  dear 
madam,  another  glass  ;  it  is  Christmas  time,  it  will  do  you  no 
harm.  It  is  not  intended  to  keep  long,  this  sort  of  drink. 
(Come,  froth  up,  Mr.  Publisher,  and  pass  quickly  round  !)  And 
as  for  the  professional  gentlemen,  we  must  get  a  stronger  sort 
for  them  some  day. 

The  Tifnes'  gentleman  (a  very  difficult  gent  to  please)  is  the 
loudest  and  noisiest  of  all,  and  has  made  more  hideous  faces 
over  the  refreshment  offered  to  him  than  any  other  critic. 
There  is  no  use  shirking  this  statement !  when  a  man  has 
been  abused  in  the  Times,  he  can't  hide  it,  any  more  than  he 
could  hide  the  knowledge  of  his  having  been  committed  to 
prison  by  Mr.  Henry,  or  publicly  caned  in  Pall  Mall.     You  see 

(loy) 


no  PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITIOiV : 

it  in  your  friends'  eyes  when  they  meet  you.  They  know  it, 
They  have  chuckled  over  it  to  a  man.  They  whisper  about  it 
at  the  club,  and  look  over  the  paper  at  you.  My  next-door 
neighbor  came  to  see  me  this  morning,  and  I  saw  by  his  face 
that  he  had  the  whole  story  pat.  "  Hem  !  "  says  he,  "  well,  1 
have  heard  of  it  ;  and  the  fact  is,  they  were  talking  about  you 
at  dinner  last  night,  and  mentioning  that  the  Times  had — ahem  ! 
— '  walked  into  you.'  " 

"  My  good  M "  I  say — and   M will  corroborate,  if 

need  be,  the  statement  I  make  here — "  here  is  the  Ti7nes' 
article,  dated  January  4th,  which  states  so  and  so,  and  here  is 
a  letter  from  the  publisher,  likewise  dated  January  4th,  and 
which  says  : — 

"  My  dear  Sir, — Having  this  day  sold  the  last  copy  of  the 
first  edition  (of  x  thousand)  of  the  '  Kickleburys  Abroad,'  and 
having  orders  for  more,  had  we  not  better  proceed  to  a  second 
edition  ?  and  will  you  permit  me  to  enclose  an  order  on,"  &c., 
&c.  1 

Singular  coincidence  !  And  if  every  author  who  was  so 
abused  by  a  critic  had  a  similar  note  from  a  publisher,  good 
Lord  !  how  easily  would  we  take  the  critic's  censure  ! 

"  Yes,  yes,"  you  say  ;  "it  is  all  very  well  for  a  writer  to 
affect  to  be  indifferent  to  a  critique  from  the  Times.  You  bear 
it  as  a  boy  bears  a  flogging  at  school,  without  crying  out ;  but 
don't  swagger  and  brag  as  if  you  liked  it." 

Let  us  have  truth  before  all.  I  would  rather  have  a  good 
word  than  a  bad  one  from  any  person  :  but  if  a  critic  abuses 
me  from  a  high  place,  and  it  is  worth  my  while,  I  will  appeal. 
If  I  can  show  that  the  judge  who  is  delivering  sentence  against 
me,  and  laying  down  the  law  and  making  a  pretence  of  learn- 
ing, has  no  learning  and  no  law,  and  is  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  pompous  noodle,  who  ought  not  to  be  heard  in  any 
respectable  court,  I  will  do  so  ;  and  then,  dear  friends,  perhaps 
you  will  have  something  to  laugh  at  in  this  book. — 

"  The  Kicklebury's  Abroad. 

"  It  lias  been  customary,  of  late  years,  for  the  purveyors  of  amusing  literature — the  popular 
authors  of  tiie  day — to  put  forth  certain  opuscules,  denominated  '  Christmas  Books,'  with 
the  ostensible  intention  of  swelling  the  tide  of  exhilaration,  or  other  expansive  emotions, 
incident  upon  the  exodus  of  the  old  and  tl;e  inauguration  of  the  new  year.  We  have  said 
that  their  ostensible  intention  was  such,  because  there  is  another  motive  for  these  produc- 
tions, locked  up  (as  the  popular  author  deems)  in  his  own  breast,  but  which  betrays  itself,  in 
the  quality  of  the  work,  as  his  principal  incentive.  Oh  !  that  any  muse  should  be  set  upon 
a  high  stool  to  cast  up  accounts  and  balance  a  ledger!  Yet,  so  it  is  ;  and  the  popular  author 
finds  it  convenient  to  fill  up  the  declared  deficit,  and  place  himself  in  a  position  the  more 


AN  ESSAY  ON  THUNDER  AND  SMALL  BEER  j  i^ 

effectually  to  encounter  those  liabilities  which  sternly  assert  themselves  contemporaneously 
and  in  contrast  with  the  careless  and  free-handed  tendencies  of  the  season  by  the  emission 
of  Christmas  books — a  kind  of  literary  assignats,  representing  to  the  emitter  expunged 
debts,  to  the  receiver  an  investment  of  enigmatical  value.  For  the  most  part  bearing  the 
stamp  of  their  origin  in  the  vacuity  of  the  writer's  exchequer  rather  than  in  the  fuhiess  of 
his  genius,  they  suggest  by  their  feeble  flavor  the  rinsings  of  a  void  brain  after  the  more 
important  concoctions  of  the  expired  year.  Indeed,  we  should  as  little  think  of  taking  these 
compositions  as  examples  of  the  merits  of  their  autliors  as  we  should  think  of  measuring  the 
valuable  services  of  Mr.  Walker,  the  postman,  or  ]\Ir.  Bell,  the  dust-collector,  by  tlie  cop^ 
of  verses  they  leave  at  our  doors  as  a  provocative  of  the  expected  annual  gratuity — effusions 
with  which  they  may  fairly  be  classed  for  their  intrinsic  worth  no  less  than  their  ultimate 
purport- 

"  In  the  Christmas  book  presently  under  notice,  the  author  appears  (under  the  thin 
disguise  of  Mr.  Michael  Angelo  Titmarsh)  in  ^ propn'fE  personce'  as  the  popular  author, 
the  contributor  to  Punch,  the  remorseless  pursuer  of  unconscious  vulgarity  and  feeble- 
mindedness, launched  upon  a  tour  of  relaxation  to  the  Rhine.  But  though  exercising,  as 
is  the  wont  of  popular  authors  in  their  mnments  of  leisure,  a  plentiful  reserve  of  those 
higher  qualities  to  which  they  are  indebted  for  their  fame,  his  professional  instincts  are  not 
altogether  in  abeyance.  From  the  moment  his  eye  lights  upon  a  luckless  family  group 
embarked  on  the  same  steamer  with  himself,  the  siglit  of  his  accustomed  quarry — vulgarity, 
imbecility,  and  affectation — reanimates  his  relaxed  sinews,  and,  playfully  fastening  his 
satiric  fangs  upon  the  familiar  prey,  he  dallies  with  it  in  mimic  ferocity  like  a  satiated 
mouser. 

"Though  faintly  and  carelessly  indicated,  the  characters  are  those  with  which  the 
author  loves  to  surround  himself.  A  tuft-hunting  county  baronet's  widow,  an  inane  cap- 
tain of  dragoons,  a  graceless  young  baronet,  a  lady  with  groundless  pretensions  to  feeble 
health  and  poesy,  an  obsequious  nonentity  her  husband,  and  a  flimsy  and  artificial  young 
lady,  are  the  personages  -in  whom  we  are  expected  to  find  amusement.  Two  individuals 
alone  form  an  exception  to  the  above  category,  and  are  offered  to  the  respectful  admiration 
of  the  reader, — the  one,  a  shadowy  serjeant-at-law,  Mr.  Titmarsh's  travelling  companion, 
who  escapes  with  a  few  side  puffs  of  flattery,  which  the  author  struggles  not  to  render  ironi- 
cal, and  a  mysterious  countess,  spoken  of  in  a  tone  of  religious  reverence,  and  apparently 
introduced  that  we  may  learn  by  what  delicate  discriminations  our  adoration  of  rank  should 
be  regulated. 

"  To  those  who  love  to  hug  themselves  in  a  sense  of  superiority  by  admeasurement  with 
the  most  worthless  of  their  species,  in  their  most  worthless  aspects,  the  K ickhlnirys  on 
the  Rhine  will  afford  an  agreeable  treat,  especially  as  the  purveyor  of  the  feast  offers  his 
own  moments  of  human  weakness  as  a  modest  entree  in  this  banquet  of  erring  mortality. 
To  our  own,  perhaps  unphilosophical,  taste  the  aspirations  towards  sentimental  perfection 
of  anotlier  popular  author  are  infini  teiy  preferable  to  these  sardonic  divings  after  the  pearl 
of  truth,  whos^  lustre  is  eclipsed  in  the  display  of  the  diseased  oyster.  IVIuch,  in  the  pres- 
ent instance,  perhaps  all,  the  disagreeable  effect  of  his  subject  is  no  doubt  attributable  to 
the  absence  of  Mr.  Thackeray's  usual  brilliancy  of  style.  A  few  flashes,  however,  occur, 
such  as  the  description  of  M.  Lenoir's  gaming  establishment,  with  the  momentous  crisis  to 
which  it  was  subjected,  and  the  quaint  and  imaginative  sallies  evoked  by  the  whole  town  of 
Rougetnoirbourg  and  its  lawful  prince.  These,  with  the  illustrations,  which  are  spirited 
enough,  redeem  the  book  from  an  absolute  ban.  Mr.  Thackeray's  pencil  is  more  congenial 
than  his  pen.  He  cannot  draw  his  men  and  women  with  their  skins  off,  and,  therefore,  the 
effigies  of  his  characters  are  pleasanter  to  contemplate  than  the  flayed  anatomies  of  the  letter- 
prets." 

There  is  the  whole  article.  And  the  reader  will  see  (in  the 
paragraph  preceding  that  memorable  one  which  winds  up  with 
the  diseased  oyster)  that  he  must  be  a  worthless  creature  for 
daring  to  like  the  book,  as  he  could  only  do  so  from  a  desire 
to  hug  himself  in  a  sense  of  superiority  by  admeasurement  with 
the  most  worthless  of  his  fellow-creatures  ! 

The  reader  is  worthless  for  liking  a  book  of  which  all  the 
characters  are  worthless,  except  two,  which  are  offered  to  his 
respectful  admiration  ;  and  of  these  two  the  author  does  not 
respect  one,  but  struggles  not  to  laugh  in  his  face ;  whilst  he 
apparently  speaks  of  another  in  a  tone  of  religious  reverence, 
because  the  lady  is  a  countess,  and  because  he  (the  author)  is 


112  PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION: 

a  sneak.  So  reader,  author,  characters,  are  rogues  all.  Be 
there  any  honest  men  left,  Hal .''  About  Printing-house  Square, 
mayhap  you  may  light  on  an  honest  man,  a  squeamish  man,  a 
proper  moral  man,  a  man  that  shall  talk  you  Latin  by  the  half- 
column  if  you  will  but  hear  him. 

And  what  a  style  it  is,  that  great  man's.  What  hoighth 
of  foine  language  entoirely  !  How  he  can  discoorse  you  in 
English  for  all  the  world  as  if  it  was  Latin !  For  instance, 
suppose  you  and  I  had  to  announce  the  important  news  that 
some  writers  published  what  are  called  Christmas  books  ;  that 
Christmas  books  are  so  called  because  they  are  published  al 
Christmas  :  and  that  the  purpose  of  the  author  is  to  try  and 
amuse  people.  Suppose,  I  say,  we  had,  by  the  sheer  force  of 
intellect,  or  by  other  means  of  observation  or  information, 
discovered  these  great  truths,  we  should  have  announced  them 
in  so  many  words.  And  there  it  is  that  the  difference  lies 
between  a  great  writer  and  a  poor  one;  and  we  may  see  how 
an  inferior  man  may  fling  a  chance  away.'  How  does  my 
friend  of  the  Times  put  these  propositions  ?  "  It  has  been 
customary,"  says  he,  "  of  late  years  for  the  purveyors  of 
amusing  literature  to  put  forth  certain  opuscules,  denominated 
Christmas  books,  with  the  ostensible  intention  of  swelling  the 
tide  of  exhilaration,  or  other  expansive  emotions,  incident  upon 
the  exodus  of  the  old  or  the  inauguration  of  the  new  year." 
That  is  something  like  a  sentence;  not  a  word  scarcely  but's  in 
Latin,  and  the  longest  and  handsomest  out  of  the  whole 
dictionary.  That  is  proper  economy — as  you  see  a  buck  from 
Holywell  Street  put  every  pinchbeck  pin,  ring,  and  chain  which 
he  possesses  about  his  shirt,  hands,  and  waistcoat,  and  then  go 
and  cut  a  dash  in  the  Park,  or  swagger  with  his  order  to  the 
theatre.  It  costs  him  no  more  to  wear  all  his  ornaments  about 
his  distinguished  person  than  to  leave  them  at  home.  If  you  can 
be  a  swell  at  a  cheap  rate,  why  not  ?  And  I  protest,  for  my 
part,  I  had  no  idea  what  I  was  really  about  in  writing  and  sub- 
mitting my  little  book  for  sale,  until  my  friend  the  critic, 
looking  at  the  article,  and  examining  it  with  the  eyes  of  a  con- 
noisseur, pronounced  that  what  I  had  fancied  simply  to  be  a 
book  was  in  fact  "  an  opuscule  denominated  so-and-so,  and 
ostensibly  intended  to  swell  the  tide  of  expansive  emotion  inci- 
dent upon  the  inauguration  of  the  new  year."  I  can  hardly 
believe  as  much  even  now — so  little  do  we  know  what  we  really 
are  after,  until  men  of  genius  come  and  interpret. 

And  besides  the  ostensible  intention,  the  reader  will  per- 
ceive that  my  judge  has  discovered  another  latent  motive,  which 


AN  ESSA  Y  ON  THUNDER  AND  SMALL  BEER.         1 13 

I  had  "  locked  up  in  my  own  breast."  The  sly  rogue  !  (\i  we 
may  so  speak  of  the  court.)  There  is  no  keeping  anything 
from  him  ;  and  this  truth,  like  the  rest,  has  come  out,  and  is  all 
over  England  by  this  time.  Oh,  that  all  England,  which  has 
bought  the  judge's  charge,  would  purchase  the  prisoner's  plea 
in  mitigation  !  "  Oh,  that  any  muse  should  be  set  on  a  high 
stool,"  says  the  bench,  "  to  cast  up  accounts  and  balance  a 
ledger  !  Yet  so  it  is  ;  and  the  popular  author  finds  it  con- 
venient to  fill  up  the  declared  deficit  by  the  emission  of 
Christmas  books — a  kind  of  assignats  that  bear  the  stamp  of 
their  origin  in  the  vacuity  of  the  writer's  exchequer."  There  is 
a  troioe  for  you  !  You  rascal,  you  wrote  because  you  wanted 
money !  His  lordship  has  found  out  what  you  were  at,  and 
that  there  is  a  deficit  in  your  till.  But  he  goes  on  to  say  that 
we  poor  devils  are  to  be  pitied  in  our  necessity  ;  and  that  these 
compositions  are  no  more  to  be  taken  as  examples  of  our  merits 
than  the  verses  which  the  dustman  leaves  at  his  lordship's 
door,  "  as  a  provocative  of  the  expected  annual  gratuity,"  are 
to  be  considered  as  measuring  his,  the  scavenger's  valuable 
services — nevertheless  the  author's  and  the  scavenger's  "  effu- 
sions may  fairly  be  classed,  for  their  intrinsic  worth,  no  less 
than  their  ultimate  purport." 

Heaven  bless  his  lordship  on  the  bench — What  a  gentle- 
man-like badinage  he  has,  and  what  a  charming  and  playful  wit 
always  at  hand  !  What  a  sense  he  has  for  a  simile,  or  what 
Mrs.  Malaprop  calls  an  odorous  comparison,  and  how  gracefully 
he  conducts  it  to  "its  ultimate  purport."  A  gentleman  writing 
a  poor  little  book  is  a  scavenger  asking  for  a  Christmas-box  ! 

As  I  try  this  small  beer  which  has  called  clown  such  a  deal 
of  thunder,  I  can't  help  thinking  that  it  is  not  Jove  who  has 
interfered  (the  case  was  scarce  worthy  of  his  divine  vindictive- 
ness) ;  but  the  thunderer's  man,  Jupiter  Jeames,  taking  his 
master's  place,  adopting  his  manner,  and  trying  to  dazzle  and 
roar  like  his  awful  employer.  That  figure  of  the  dustman  has 
hardly  been  flung  from  heaven  :  that  "  ultimate  purport  "  is  a 
subject  which  the  Immortal  would  hardly  handle.  Well,  well ; 
let  us  allow  that  the  book  is  not  worthy  of  such  a  polite 
critic — that  the  beer  is  not  strong  enough  for  a  gentleman  who 
has  taste  and  experience  in  beer. 

That  opinion  no  man  can  ask  his  honor  to  alter ;  but 
(the  beer  being  the  question),  why  make  unpleasant  allusions  to 
the  Gazette.,  and  hint  at  the  probable  bankruptcy  of  the  brewer  ? 
Why  twit  me  with  my  poverty  ;  and  what  can  the  Times'  critic 


114 


PREFACE   TO   THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


know  about  the  vacuity  of  my  exchequer  ?  Did  he  ever  lend  me 
any  money  ?  Does  he  not  himself  write  for  money  ?  (and  who 
would  grudge  it  to  such  a  polite  and  generous  and  learned 
author?)  If  he  finds  no  disgrace  in  being  paid,  why  should  I  ? 
If  he  has  ever  been  poor,  why  should  he  joke  at  my  empty 
exchequer  ?  Of  course  such  a  genius  is  paid  for  his  work  :  with 
such  neat  logic,  such  a  pure  style,  such  a  charming  poetical 
turn  of  phrase,  of  course  a  critic  gets  money.  Why,  a  man  who 
can  say  of  a  Christmas  book  that  "it  is  an  opuscule  denomi- 
nated so  and  so,  and  ostensibly  intended  to  swell  the  tide  of 
expansive  emotion  incident  upon  the  exodus  of  the  old  year," 
must  evidently  have  had  immense  sums  and  care  expended  on 
his  early  education,  and  deserves  a  splendid  return.  You 
can't  go  into  the  market,  and  get  scholarship  like  that,  without 
paying  for  it :  even  the  flogging  that  such  a  writer  must  have  in 
early  youth  (if  he  was  at  a  public  school  where  the  rods  were 
paid  for),  must  have  cost  his  parents  a  good  sum.  Where 
would  you  find  any  but  an  accomplished  classical  scholar  to 
compare  the  books  of  the  present  (or  indeed  any  other)  writer 
to  "  sardonic  divings  after  the  pearl  of  truth,  whose  lustre  is 
eclipsed  in  the  display  of  the  diseased  oyster  ; "  mere  Billings- 
gate doesn't  turn  out  oysters  like  these  ;  they  are  of  the  Lucrine 
lake  : — this  satirist  has  pickled  his  rods  in  Latin  brine.  Fancy, 
not  merely  a  diver,  but  a  sardonic  diver  :  and  the  expression 
of  his  confounded  countenance  on  discovering  not  only  a  pearl, 
but  an  eclipsed  pearl,  which  was  in  a  diseased  oyster!  I  say 
it  is  only  by  an  uncommon  and  happy  combination  of  taste, 
genius,  and  industry,  that  a  man  can  arrive  at  uttering  such 
sentiments  in  such  fine  language, — that  such  a  man  ought  to  be 
well  paid,  as  I  have  no  doubt  he  is,  and  that  he  is  worthily 
employed  to  write  literary  articles,  in  large  type,  in  the  leading 
journal  of  Europe.  Don't  we  want  men  of  eminence  and  polite 
learning  to  sit  on  the  literary  bench,  and  to  direct  the  public 
opinion  ? 

But  when  this  profound  scholar  compares  me  to  a  scavenger 
who  leaves  a  copy  of  verses  at  his  door  and  begs  for  a 
Christmas-box,  I  must  again  cry  out  and  say,  "  My  dear  sir,  it 
is  true  your  simile  is  offensive,  but  can  you  make  it  out  ?  Are 
you  not  hasty  in  your  figures  and  allusions  ?  "  If  I  might  give  a 
hint  to  so  consummate  a  rhetorician  you  should  be  more  care- 
ful in  making  your  figures  figures,  and  your  similes  like  :  for 
instance,  when  you  talk  of  a  book  "  swelling  the  tide  of  exhila- 
ration incident  to  the  inauguration  of  the  new  year,"  or  of  a 
book  "  bearing  the  stamps  of  its  origin  in  vacuity,''  <S:c. — or  of 


AN  ESSdY  ON  THUNDER  AND  SMALL  BEER.         j  i^ 

a  man  diving  sardonically  ;  or  of  a  pearl  eclipsed  in  the  dis- 
play of  a  diseased  oyster — there  are  some  people  who  will  not 
apprehend  your  meaning :  some  will  doubt  whether  you  had  a 
meaning  :  some  even  will  question  your  great  powers,  and  say, 
'-  Is  this  man  to  be  a  critic  in  a  newspaper,  which  knows  what 
English,  and  Latin  too,  and  what  sense  and  scholarship,  are  ? " 
I  don't  quarrel  with  you — I  take  for  granted  your  wit  and 
learning,  your  modesty  and  benevolence — but  why  scavenger — ■ 
Jupiter  Jeames — why  scavenger  ?  A  gentleman,  whose  biography 
the  Examiner  was  fond  of  quoting  before  it  took  its  present 
serious  and  orthodox  turn,  was  pursued  by  an  outraged  wife  to 
the  very  last  stage  of  his  existence  with  an  appeal  almost  as 
pathetic — Ah,  sir,  why  scavenger  ? 

How  can  I  be  like  a  dustman  that  rings  for  a  Christmas- 
box  at  your  hall-door  ?  I  never  was  there  in  my  life.  I  never 
left  at  your  door  a  copy  of  verses  provocative  of  an  annual 
gratuity,  as  your  noble  honor  styles  it.  Who  are  you  .''  If  you 
are  the  man  I  take  you  to  be,  it  must  have  been  you  who  asked 
the  publisher  for  my  book,  and  not  I  who  sent  it  in,  and  begged 
a  gratuity  of  your  worship.  You  abused  me  out  of  the  Times'' 
window  ;  but  if  ever  your  noble  honor  sent  me  a  gratuity  out 
of  your  own  door,  may  I  never  drive  another  dust-cart.  "  Pro- 
vocative of  a  gratuity  !  "  O  splendid  swell !  How  much  was  it 
your  worship  sent  out  to  me  by  the  footman  ?  Every  farthing 
you  have  paid  I  will  restore  to  your  lordship,  and  I  swear  I 
shall  not  be  a  halfpenny  the  poorer. 

As  before,  and  on  similar  seasons  and  occasions,  I  have 
compared  myself  to  a  person  following  a  not  dissimilar  calling  : 
let  me  suppose  now,  for  a  minute,  that  I  am  a  writer  of  a  Christ- 
mas farce,  who  sits  in  the  pit,  and  sees  the  performance  of 
his  own  piece.  There  comes  applause,  hissing,  yawning, 
laughter,  as  may  be  :  but  the  loudest  critic  of  all  is  our  friend 
the  cheap  buck,  who  sits  yonder  and  makes  his  remarks,  so 
that  all  the  audience  may  hear.  "  This  a  farce  !  "  says  Beau 
Tibbs  •-  "  demmy  !  it's  the  work  of  a  poor  devil  who  writes  for 
money, — confound  his  vulgarity  !  This  a  farce  !  Why  isn't  it 
a  tragedy,  or  a  comedy,  or  an  epic  poem,  stap  my  vitals  ?  This 
a  farce  indeed  !  It's  a  feller  as  sends  round  his  'at,  and 
appeals  to  charity.  Let's  'ave  our  money  back  again,  I  say." 
And  he  swaggers  off  ; — and  you  find  the  fellow  came  with  an 
author's  order. 

But  if,  in  spite  of  Tibbs,  our  "  kyind  friends,"  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 
— if  the  little  farce,  which  was  meant  to  amuse  Christmas  (or 
what  my  classical  friend  calls  Exodus),  is  asked  for,  even  up  to 


il6  PREFACE  TO   THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

Twelfth  Night, — shall  the  publisher  stop  because  Tibbs  is  dis 
satisfied  ?  Whenever  that  capitalist  calls  to  get  his  money  back 
he  may  see  the  letter  from  the  respected  publisher,  inform- 
ing the  author  that  all  the  copies  are  sold,  and  that  there  are 
demands  for  a  new  edition.  Up  with  the  curtain,  then  !  Vivat 
Regina  !  and  no  monev  returned,  except  the  limes''  "  gratuity  !  " 

M.  A.  TITMARSH. 
jfaiiuary  2,  1851. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS 

ON  THE  RHINE. 


The  cabman,  when  he  brought  us  to  the  wharf,  and  made 
his  usual  charge  of  six  times  his  legal  fare,  before  the  settle- 
ment  of  which  he  pretended  to  refuse  the  privilege  of  an  exeai 
regno  to  our  luggage,  glared  like  a  disappointed  fiend  when 
I^ankin,  calling  up  the  faithful  Hutchison,  his  clerk,  who  was 
in  attendance,  said  to  him,  "  Hutchison,  you  will  jDay  this  man. 
My  name  is  Serjeant  Lankin,  my  chambers  are  in  Pump  Court. 
My  clerk  will  settle  with  you,  sir."  The  cabman  trembled ;  we 
stepped  on  board  ;  our  lightsome  luggage  was  speedily  whisked 
away  by  the  crew  •  our  berths  had  been  secured  by  the  previous 
agency  of  Hutchison  ;  and  a  couple  of  tickets,  on  which  were 
written,  "Mr.  Serjeant  Lankin,"  "Mr.  Titmarsh,"  (Lankin's, 
by  the  way,  incomparably  the  best  and  comfortablest  sleeping 
place,)  were  pinned  on  two  of  the  curtains  of  the  beds  in  a  side 
cabin  when  we  descended. 

Who  was  on  board  ?  There  were  Jews,  with  Sunday  papers 
and  fruit ;  there  were  couriers  and  servants  straggling  about ; 
there  were  those  bearded  foreign  visitors  of  England,  who 
always  seem  to  decline  to  shave  or  wash  themselves  on  the  clay 
of  a  voyage,  and,  on  the  eve  of  quitting  our  country,  appear  in- 
clined to  carry  away  as  much  as  possible  of  its  soil  on  their 
hands  and  linen  :  there  were  parties  already  cozily  established 
on  deck  under  the  awning ;  and  steady-going  travellers  for'ard, 
smoking  already  the  pleasant  morning  cigar,  and  watching  tha 
phenomena  of  departure. 

The  bell  rings  :  they  leave  off  bawling,  "  Anybody  else  for 
the  shore  ?  "     The  last  grape  and  Bell's  Life  merchant  has 


li8  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 

scuffled  over  the  plank  :  the  Johns  of  the  departing  nobility  and 
gentry  line  the  brink  of  the  quay,  and  touch  their  hats  :  Hutchi- 
son touches  his  hat  to  me — to  w^,  heaven  bless  him  !  I  turn 
round  inexpressibly  affected  and  delighted,  and  whom  do  I  see 
but  Captain  Hicks  ! 

"  Hallo  !  you  here  ?  "  says  Hicks,  in  a  tone  which  seems  ta 
mean,  "  Confound  you,  you  are  everywhere." 

Hicks  is  one  of  those  young  men  who  seem  to  be  everywhere 
a  great  deal  too  often. 

How  are  they  always  getting  leave  from  their  regiments  t 
If  they  are  not  W' anted  in  this  country,  (as  wanted  they  cannot 
be,  for  you  see  them  sprawling  over  the  railing  in  Rotten  Row 
all  day,  and  shaking  their  heels  at  every  ball  in  town,) — if  they 
are  not  wanted  in  this  country,  I  say,  why  the  deuce  are  they 
'  not  sent  off  to  India,  or  to  Demerara,  or  to  Sierra  Leone,  by 
Jove  ? — the  farther  the  better ;  and  I  should  wish  a  good  un- 
wholesome climate  to  try  'em,  and  make  'em  hardy.  Here  is 
this  Hicks,  then — Captain  Launcelot  Hicks,  if  you  please — 
whose  life  is  nothing  but  breakfast,  smoking,  riding-school, 
billiards,  mess,  polking,  billiards,  and  smoking  again,  and  da 
capo — pulling  down  his  mustaches,  and  going  to  take  a  tour 
after  the  immense  labors  of  the  season. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Captain  Hicks  ?  "  I  say.  "  Where  are  you 
going?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  going  to  the  Whine,"  says  Hicks  ;  "  evewybody 
goes  to  the  Whine."  The  Whine  indeed  !  I  dare  say  he  can  no 
more  spell  properly  than  he  can  speak. 

"  Who  is  on  board — anybody  ?  "  I  ask,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
of  fashion.  "  To  whom  does  that  immense  pile  of  luggage  be- 
long— under  charge  of  the  lady's-maid,  the  courier,  and  the 
British  footman  1     A  large  white  K  is  painted  on  all  the  boxes." 

"  How  the  deuce  should  /know  ?"  says  Hicks,  looking,  as 
I  fancy,  both  red  and  angry,  and  strutting  oiif  with  his  great 
cavalry  lurch  and  swagger  :  whilst  my  friend  the  Serjeant  looks 
at  him  lost  in  admiration,  and  surveys  his  shining  little  boots, 
his  chains  and  breloques,  his  whiskers  and  ambrosial  mus- 
taches, his  gloves  and  other  dandifications,  with  a  pleased  won- 
der J  as  the  ladies  of  the  Sultan's  harem  surveyed  the  great 
Lady  from  Park  Lane  who  paid  them  a  visit ;  or  the  simple 
subjects  of  Montezuma  looked  at  one  of  Cortes's  heavy  dragoons. 

"That  must  be  a  marquis  at  least,"  whispers  Lankin,  who 
consults  me  on  points  of  society,  and  is  pleased  to  have  a  great 
opinion  of  my  experience. 

I  burst  out  in  a  scornful  laugh.     '*  That T'  I  say;  "he  is  a 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE 


I  ig 


captain  of  dragoons,  and  his  father  is  an  attorney  in  Bedford 
Row.  The  whiskers  of  a  roturier,  my  good  Lankin,  grow  as 
long  as  the  beard  of  a  Plantagenet.  It  don't  require  much 
noble  blood  to  learn  the  polka.  If  you  were  younger,  Lankin, 
we  might  go  for  a  shilling  a  night,  and  dance  every  evening  at 
M.  Laurent's  Casino,  and  skip  about  in  a  little  time  as  well  as 
that  fellow.  Only  we  despise  that  kind  of  thing  you  know, — 
only  we're  too  grave,  and  too  steady." 

"  And  too  fat,"  whispers  Lankin,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  you  maypole,"  says  I.  "  If  you  can't 
dance  yourself,  people  can  dance  round  you — put  a  wreath  of 
flowers  upon  your  old  poll,  stick  you  up  in  a  village  green,  and 
so  make  use  of  you." 

"  I  should  gladly  be  turned  into  anything  so  pleasant," 
Lankin  answers  ;  "  and  so,  at  least,  get  a  chance  of  seeing  a 
pretty  girl  now  and  then.  They  don't  show  in  Pump  Court  or 
at  the  University  Club,  where  I  dine.  You  are  a  lucky  fellow, 
Titmarsh,  and  go  about  in  the  world.     As  for  me,  /never " 

"  And  the  judges'  wives,  you  rogue  ?  "  I  say.  "  Well,  no 
man  is  satisfied  ;  and  the  only  reason  I  have  to  be  angry  with 
the  captain  yonder  is,  that,  the  other  night  at  Mrs.  Perkins's, 
being  in  conversation  with  a  charming  young  creature — who 
knows  all  my  favorite  passages  in  Tennyson,  and  takes  a  most 
delightful  little  line  of  opposition  in  the  Church  controversy — ■ 
just  as  we  were  in  the  very  closest,  dearest,  pleasantest  part  of 
the  talk,  comes  up  young  Hotspur  yonder,  and  whisks  her 
away  in  a  polka.  What  have  you  and  I  to  do  with  polkas, 
Lankin  ?  He  took  her  down  to  supper — what  have  you  and  I 
to  do  with  suppers?  " 

"  Our  duty  is  to  leave  them  alone,"  said  the  philosophical 
Serjeant.  "  And  now  about  breakfast — shall  we  have  some  ?  " 
And  as  he  spoke,  a  savory  little  procession  of  stewards  and 
stewards'  boys,  with  drab  tin  dish-covers,  passed  from  the 
caboose,  and  descended  the  stairs  to  the  cabin.  The  vessel 
had  passed  Greenwich  by  this  time,  and  had  worked  its  way 
out  of  the  mast-forest  which  guards  the  approaches  of  our  City. 

The  owners  of  those  mnumerable  boxes,  bags,  oil-skins, 
guitar-cases,  whereon  the  letter  K  was  engraved,  appeared  to 
be  three  ladies,  with  a  slim  gentleman  of  two  or  three  and  thirty, 
who  was  probably  the  husband  of  one  of  them.  He  had  num- 
berless shawls  under  his  arm  and  guardianship.  He  had  a 
strap  full  of  Murray's  Handbooks  and  Continental  Guides  in 
his  keeping  ;  and  a  little  collection  of  parasols  and  umbrellas, 


I20  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 

bound  together,  and  to  be  carried  in  state  before  the  chief  of 
the  party,  like  tlie  lictor's  fasces  before  the  consul. 

The  chief  of  the  party  was  evidently  the  stout  lady.  One 
parasol  being  left  free,  she  waved  it  about,  and  commanded  the 
luggage  and  the  menials  to  and  fro.  "  Horace,  we  will  sit 
there,"  she  exclaimed,  pointing  to  a  comfortable  place  on  the 
deck.  Horace  went  and  placed  the  shawls  and  the  Guide-books. 
"  Hirsch,  avy  vou  conty  les  bagages  ?  front  sett  morso  ong  too  ?  " 
The  German  courier  said,  "Oui,  miladi,"  and  bowed  a  rather 
sulky  assent.  "  Bowman,  you  will  see  that  Finch  is  comfort- 
able, and  send  her  to  me."  The  gigantic  Bowman,  a  gentleman 
in  an  undress  uniform,  with  very  large  and  splendid  armorial 
buttons,  and  with  traces  of  the  powder  of  the  season  still  lin- 
gering in  his  hair,  bows,  and  speeds  upon  my  lady's  errand. 

I  recognize  Hirsch,  a  well-known  face  upon  the  European 
high-road,  where  he  has  travelled  with  many  acquaintances. 
With  whom  is  he  making  the  tour  now  ? — M>.  Hirsch  is  acting 
as  courier  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Horace  Milliken.  They  have  not 
been  married  many  months,  and  they  are  travelling,  Hirsch 
says,  with  a  contraction  of  his  bushy  eyebrows,  with  miladi,  Mrs, 
Milliken's  mamma.  "And  who  is  her  ladyship  ?  "  Hirsch's 
brow  contracts  into  deeper  furrows.  "  It  is  Miladi  Giggle- 
bury,"  he  says,  "  Mr.  Didmarsh.  Berhabs  you  know  her."  He 
scowls  round  at  her,  as  she  call  out  loudly,  "  Hirsch,  Hirsch  !  " 
and  obeys  that  summons. 

It  is  the  great  Lady  Kicklebury  of  Pocklington  Square, 
about  whom  I  remember  Mrs.  Perkins  made  so  much  ado  at 
her  last  ball;  and  whom  old  Perkins  conducted  to  supper. 
When  Sir  Thomas  Kicklebury  died  (he  was  one  of  the  first 
tenants  of  the  square),  who  does  not  remember  the  scutcheon 
with  the  coronet  with  two  balls,  that  flamed  over  No.  36  ?  Her 
son  was  at  Eton  then,  and  has  subsequently  taken  an  honorary 
degree  at  Oxford,  and  been  an  ornament  of  "  Piatt's  "  and  the 
"Oswestry  Club."  He  fled  into  St.  James's  from  the  great 
house  in  Pocklington  Square,  and  from  St.  James's  to  Italyand 
the  Mediterranean,  where  he  has  been  for  some  time  in  a 
wholesome  exile.  Her  eldest  daughter's  marriage  with  Lord 
Roughheadwas  talked  about  last  year;  but  Lord  Roughhead,  it 
is  known,  married  Miss  Brent;  and  Horace  Milliken,  very  much 
to  his  surprise,  found  himself  the  affianced  husband  of  Miss, 
Lavinia  Kicklebury,  after  an  agitating  evening  at  Lady  Polki- 
more's,  when  Miss  Lavinia  feeling  herself  faint,  went  out  on  to 
the  leads  (the  terrace,  Lady  Polkimore  will  call  it),  on  the  arm 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE.  121 

of  Mr.  Milliken.  They  were  married  in  January :  it's  not  a 
bad  match  for  Miss  K.  Lady  Kicklebury  goes  and  stops  for 
six  months  of  the  year  at  Pigeoncot  with  her  daughter  and  son- 
in-law  ;  and  now  that  they  are  come  abroad,  she  comes  too. 
She  must  be  with  Lavinia  under  the  present  circumstances. 

When  I  am  arm-in-arm,  I  tell  this  story  glibly  off  to  Lankin, 
who  is  astonished  at  my  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  says, 
"  Why,  Titmarsh,  you  know  everything." 

"  I  do  know  a  few  things,  Lankin,  my  boy,"  is  my  answer. 
*'  A  man  don't  4ive  in  society,  and //'<?/// ^6",^^/  society,  let  me  tell 
you,  for  nothing." 

The  fact  is,  that  all  the  above  details  are  known  to  almost 
any  man  in  our  neighborhood.  Lady  Kicklebury  does  not 
meet  with  us  much,  and  has  greater  folks  than  we  can  pretend 
to  be  at  her  parties.  But  we  know  about  tJmn.  She'll  con- 
descend to  come  to  Perkins's,  with  ivhose  firin  she  banks  ;  and 
she  7nay  overdraw  her  account :  but  of  that,  of  course,  I  know 
nothing. 

When  Lankin  and  I  go  down  stairs  to  breakfast,  we  find,  if  not 
the  best,  at  least  the  most  conspicuous  places  in  occupation  of 
Lady  Kicklebury's  party,  and  the  hulking  London  footman 
making  a  darkness  in  the  cabin  as  he  stoops  through  it  bearing 
cups  and  plates  to  his  employers. 

[Why  do  they  always  put  mud  into  coffee  on  board  steam- 
ers ?  Why  does  the  tea  generally  taste  of  boiled  boots  ?  Why 
is  the  milk  scarce  and  thin?  And  why  do  they  have  those 
bleeding  legs  of  boiled  mutton  for  dinner?  I  ask  why?  In 
the  steamers  of  other  nations  you  are  well  fed.  Is  it  impossible 
that  Britannia,  who  confessedly  rules  the  waves,  should  attend 
to  the  victuals  a  little,  and  that  meat  should  be  well  cooked 
under  a  Union  Jack?  I  just  put  in  this  question,  this  most  in- 
teresting question,  in  a  momentous  parenthesis,  and  resume 
the  tale.] 

When  Lankin  and  I  descend  to  the  cabin,  then,  the  tables 
are  full  of  gobbling  people  ;  and,  though  there  do  seem  to  be  a 
couple  of  places  near  Lady  Kicklebury,  immediately  she  sees 
our  eyes  directed  to  the  inviting  gap,  she  slides  out,  and  with 
her  ample  robe  covers  even  more  than  that  large  space  to  which 
by  art  and  nature  she  is  entitled,  and  calling  out,  "  Horace, 
Horace  ! "  and  nodding,  and  winking,  and  pointing,  she 
causes  her  son-in-law  to  extend  the  wing  on  his  side.  We  are 
Cut  of  that  chance  of  a  breakfast.     We  shall  have  the  tea  at  its 

9 


[22  THE  KICKLEBURYS  O.V  THE  RHINE. 

third  water,  and  those  two  damp,  black  mutton-chops,  which 
nobody  else  will  take,  will  fall  to  our  cold  share. 

At  this  minute  a  voice,  clear  and  sweet,  from  a  tall  lady  in 
a  black  veil,  says,  "  Mr.  Titmarsh,"  and  I  start  and  murmur  an 
ejaculation  of  respectful  surprise,  as  I  recognize  no  less  a  per- 
son than  the  Right  Honourable  the  Countess  of  Knightsbridge, 
taking  her  tea,  breaking  up  little  bits  of  toast  with  her  slim 
fingers,  and  sitting  between  a  Belgian  horse-dealer  and  a  Ger- 
man violoncello-player  who  has  a  conge  after  the  opera — like 
any  other  mortal. 

I  whisper  her  ladyship's  name  to  Lankin.  The  Serjeant 
looks  towards  her  with  curiosity  and  awe.  Even  he,  in  his 
Pump  Court  solitudes,  has  heard  of  that  star  of  fashion — that 
admired  amongst  men  and  even  women — that  Diana  severe 
yet  simple,  the  accomplished  Aurelia  of  Knightsbridge.  Her 
husband  has  but  a  small  share  of  her  qualities.  How  should 
he  ?  The  turf  and  fox-chase  are  his  delights — the  smoking- 
room  at  the  "  Traveller's  " — nay,  shall  we  say  it  ? — the  illumin- 
ated arcades  of  "  Vauxhall,"  and  the  gambols  of  the  dishevelled 
Terpsichore.  Knightsbridge  had  his  faults — ah  !  even  the  peer- 
age of  England  is  not  exempt  from  them.  With  Diana  for  his 
wife,  he  flies  the  halls  where  she  sits  severe  and  serene,  and  is 
to  be  found  (shrouded  in  smoke,  'tis  true,)  in  those  caves  where 
the  contrite  chimney-sweep  sings  his  terrible  death-chant,  or 
the  Bacchanalian  judge  administers  a  satiric  law.  Lord 
Knightsbridge  has  his  faults,  then  ;  but  he  has  the  gout  at 
Rougetnoirbourg,  and  thither  his  wife  is  hastening  to  minister 
to  him. 

"  I  have  done,"  says  Lady  Knightsbridge,  with  a  gentle 
bow,  as  she  rises;  "you  may  have  this  place,  Mr.  Titmarsh  ; 
and  I  am  sorry  my  breakfast  is  over  :  I  should  have  prolonged 
it  had  I  thought  that  you  were  coming  to  sit  by  me.  Thank 
you — my  glove."  (Such  an  absurd  little  glove,  by  the  way.) 
"  We  shall  meet  on  the  deck  when  you  have  clone." 

And  she  moves  away  with  an  august  curtesy.  .1  can't  tell 
how  it  is  or  what  it  is,  in  that  lady  ;  but  she  says,  "  Hi'>w  do  you 
do  ?  "  as  nobody  else  knows  how  to  say  it.  In  all  her  actions, 
motions,  thoughts,  I  would  wager  there  is  the  same  cami  grace 
and  harmony.  She  is  not  very  handsome,  being  very  thin  and 
rather  sad-looking.  She  is  not  very  witty,  being  only  up  to  the 
conversation,  whatever  it  may  be  ;  and  yet,  if  she  were  in  black 
serge,  I  think  one  could  not  help  seeing  that  she  was  a  Prin- 
cess, and  Serene  Highness  ;  and  if  she  were  a  hundred  years 
old,  she  could  not  be  but  beautiful.     I  saw  her  performing  her 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  O.V  THE  RHINE. 


123 


devotions  in  Antwerp  Cathedral,  and  forgot  to  look  at  anything 
else  there  ; — so  calm  and  pure,  such  a  sainted  figure  hers 
seemed. 

When  this  great  lady  did  the  present  writer  the  honor  to 
shake  his  hand  (I  had  the  honor  to  teach  writing  and  the  rudi 
ments  of  Latin  to  the  young  and  intelligent  Lord  Viscount  Pim- 
lico),  there  seemed  to  be  a  commotion  in  the  Kicklebury  party 
— heads  were  nodded  together,  and  turned  towards  Lady 
Knightsbridge  ;  in  whose  honor,  when  Lady  Kicklebury  had 
sufficiently  reconnoitred  her  with  her  eye-glass,  the  baronet's 
lady  rose  and  swept  a  reverential  curtsey,  backing  until  she 
fell  up  against  the  cushions  at  the  stern  of  the  boat.  Lady 
Knightsbridge  did  not  see  this  salute,  for  she  did  not  acknowl- 
edge it,  but  walked  away  slimly  (she  seems  to  glide  in  and  out 
of  the  room),  and  disappeared  up  the  stair  to  the  deck. 

Lankin  and  I  took  our  places,  the  horse-dealer  making 
room  for  us  ;  and  I  could  not  heli?  looking,  with  a  little  air  of 
triumph,  over  to  the  Kicklebury  faction,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  You  fine  folks,  with  your  large  footman  and  supercilious  airs, 
see  what  zve  can  do." 

As  I  looked — smiling,  and  nodding,  and  laughing  at  me  in 
a  knowing,  pretty  way,  and  then  leaning  to  mamma  as  if  in 
explanation,  what  face  should  I  see  but  that  of  the  young  lady 
at  Mrs.  Perkins's,  with  whom  I  had  had  that  pleasant  conver- 
sation which  had  been  interrupted  by  the  demand  of  Captain 
Hicks  for  a  dance  ?  So,  then,  that  was  Miss  Kicklebury,  about 
whom  Miss  Perkins,  my  young  friend,  has  so  often  spoken  to 
me  (the  young  ladies  were  in  conversation  when  I  had  the 
happiness  of  joining  them  ;  and  Miss  P.  went  away  presently, 
to  look  to  her  guests) — that  is  Miss  Fanny  Kicklebury. 

A  sudden  pang  shot  athwart  my  bosom — Lankin  might 
have  perceived  it,  but  the  honest  Serjeant  was  so  awe-stricken 
by  his  late  interview  with  the  Countess  of  Knightsbridge,  that 
his  mind  was  unfit  to  grapple  with  other  subjects — a  pang  of 
feeling  (which  I  concealed  under  the  grin  and  graceful  bow 
wherewith  Miss  Fanny's  salutations  were  acknowledged)  tore 
my  heart-strings — as  I  thought  of — I  need  not  say — of  Hicks. 

He  had  danced  with  her,  he  had  supped  with  her — he  was 
here,  on  board  the  boat.  Where  was  that  dragoon  ?  I  looked 
round  for  him.  In  quite  a  far  corner, — but  so  that  he  could 
command  the  Kicklebury  party,  I  thought, — he  was  eating  his 
breakfast,  the  great  healthy  oaf,  and  consuming  one  broiled  egg 
after  another. 

In   the  course  of   the  afternoon,    all   parties,  as   it  may  be 


124 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 


supposed,  emerged  upon  deck  again,  and  Miss  Fanny  and  her 
mamma  began  walking  the  quarter-deck  with  a  quick  pace,  Uke 
a  couple  of  post-captains.  When  Miss  Fanny  saw  me,  she 
stopped  and  smiled,  and  recognized  the  gentleman  who  had 
amused  her  so  at  Mrs.  Perkins's. — What  a  dear  sweet  creature 
Eliza  Perkins  was !  They  had  been  at  school  together.  She 
was  going  to  write  to  Eliza  everything  that  happened  on  the 
voyage. 

"  EverytJmig'i  "  I  said,  in  my  particularly  sarcastic  manner. 

"  Well,  everything  that  was  worth  telling.  There  was  a 
great  number  of  things  that  were  very  stupid,  and  of  people 
that  were  very  stupid.  Everything  \\\2X  you  say,  Mr.  Titmarsh, 
I  am  sure  I  may  put  down.  You  have  seen  Mr,  Titmarsh's 
funny  books,  mamma  ?  " 

Mamma  said  she  had  heard — she  had  no  doubt  they  were 
very  amusing.  "  Was  not  that — ahem — Lady  Knightsbridge, 
to  whom  I  saw  you  speaking,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  is  going  to  nurse  Lord  Knightsbridge,  who  has 
the  gout  at  Rougetnoirbourg." 

"  Indeed  !  how  very  fortunate !  what  an  extraordinary  coin- 
cidence !     We  are  going  too,"  said  Lady  Kicklebury. 

I  remarked  "  that  everybody  was  going  to  Rougetnoirbourg 
this  year ;  and  I  heard  of  two  gentlemen — Count  Carambole 
and  Colonel  Cannon — who  had  been  obliged  to  sleep  there  on 
a  billiard-table  for  want  of  a  bed." 

"  My  son  Kicklebury — are  you  acquainted  with  Sir  Thomas 
Kicklebury .-'  "  her  ladyship  said,  with  great  stateliness — "  is  at 
Noirbourg,  and  will  take  lodgings  for  us.  The  springs  are 
particularly  recommended  for  my  daughter,  Mrs.  Milliken  ;  and, 
at  great  personal  sacrifice,  I  am  going  thither  myself :  but  what 
will  not  a  mother  do,  Mr.  Titmarsh  ?  Did  I  understand  you  to 
say  that  you  have  the — the  entree  at  Knightsbridge  House  .'' 
The  parties  are  not  what  they  used  to  be,  I  am  told.  Not  that 
/  have  any  knowledge.  /  am  but  a  poor  country  baronet's 
widow,  Mr.  Titmarsh ;  though  the  Kickleburys  date  from 
Henry  HE,  and  iny  family  is  not  of  the  most  modern  in  the 
country.  You  have  heard  of  General  Guff,  my  father,  perhaps  .'' 
aide-de-camp  to  the  Duke  of  York,  and  wounded  by  his  Royal 
Highness's  side  at  the  bombardment  of  Valenciennes.  We 
move  iti  our  oitm  sp/iere.'' 

"Mrs.  Perkins  is  a  \ery  kind  creature,"  I  said,  "and  it 
was  a  very  pleasant  ball.  Did  you  not  think  so,  Miss  Kickle- 
bury .''  " 

"  I  thought  it  odious,"  said  Miss  Fanny.     "  I  mean,   it  was 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  OX  THE  RHINE. 


125 


pleasant  until  that — that  stupid  man — what>  was  his  name  ? — • 
came  and  took  me  away  to  dance  with  him." 

"  What !  don't  you  care  for  a  red  coat  and  mustaches  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  I  adore  genius,  Mr.  Titmarsh,"  said  the  young  lady,  with 
a  most  killing  look  of  her  beautiful  blue  eyes,  "  and  I  have 
every  one  of  your  works  by  heart — all,  except  the  last,  which 
I  can't  endure,  I  think  it's  wicked,  positively  wicked — My 
darling  Scott ! — how  can  you  ?  And  are  you  going  to  make  a 
Christmas-book  this  year  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  about  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  do  tell  us  about  it,"  said  the  lively,  charming  creature, 
clapping  her  hands  :  and  we  began  to  talk,  being  near  Lavinia 
(Mrs.  Milliken)  and  her  husband,  who  was  ceaselessly  occupied 
in  fetching  and  carrying  books,  biscuits,  pillows  and  cloaks, 
scent-bottles,  the  Italian  greyhound,  and  the  thousand  and  one 
necessities  of  the  pale  and  interesting  bride.  Oh,  how  she  did 
fidget !  how  she  did  grumble !  how  she  altered  and  twisted  her 
position  !  and  how  she  did  make  poor  Milliken  trot ! 

After  Miss  Fanny  and  I  had  talked,  and  I  had  told  her  my 
plan,  which  she  pronounced  to  be  delightful,  she  continued  : — • 
"  I  never  was  so  provoked  in  my  life,  Mr.  Titmarsh,  as  when 
that  odious  man  came  and  interrupted  that  dear  delightful 
conversation." 

"  On  your  word  ?  The  odious  man  is  on  board  the  boat : 
I  see  him  smoking  just  by  the  funnel  yonder,  look  !  and  look- 
ing at  us." 

"  He  is  very  stupid,"  said  Fanny ;  "  and  all  that  I  adore  is 
intellect,  dear  Mr.  Titmarsh." 

"  But  why  is  he  on  board  1  "  said  I,  with  ■Sijin  sourire. 

"  Why  is  he  on  board .''  Why  is  everybody  on  board  ? 
How  do  we  meet .?  (and  oh,  how  glad  I  am  to  meet  you  again  !) 
You  don't  suppose  that  /  know  how  the  horrid  man  came 
here?" 

"  Eh  !  he  may  be  fascinated  by  a  pair  of  blue  eyes.  Miss 
Fanny !     Others  have  been  so,"  I  said. 

"  Don't  be  cruel  to  a  poor  girl,  you  wicked,  satirical  crea- 
ture," she  said.  "  I  think  Captain  Hicks  odious — there  !  and 
I  was  quite  angry  when  I  saw  him  on  the  boat.  Mamma  does 
not  know  him,  and  she  was  so  angry  with  me  for  dancing  with 
him  that  night :  though  there  was  nobody  of  any  particular 
mark  at  poor  dear  Mrs.  Perkins's — that  is,  except  you.,  Mr. 
Titmarsh." 

"And  I  am  not  a  dancing  man,"  I  said,  with  a  sigh. 


126  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 

"  I  hate  dancing  men  ;  they  can  do  nothing  but  dance." 
"  O  yes,  they  can.     Some  of  them  can   smoke,  and   some 
can  ride,  and  some  can  even  spell  very  well." 

"  You  wicked,  satirical  person.  I'm  quite  afraid  of  you  !  " 
"  And  some  of  them  call  the  Rhine  the  '  Whine,'  "  I  said, 
giving  an  admirable  imitation  of  poor  Hicks's  drawling  manner. 
Fanny  looked  hard  at  me,  with  a  peculiar  expression  on  her 
face.  At  last  she  laughed.  "  Oh,  you  wicked,  wicked  man,' 
she  said,  "  what  a  capital  mimic  you  are,  and  so  full  of  clever- 
ness !  Do  bring  up  Captain  Hicks — isn't  that  his  name  ? — and 
trot  him  out  for  us.  Bring  him  up,  and  introduce  him  to 
mamma  :  do  now,  go  !  " 

Mamma,  in  the  mean  while,  had  waited  her  time,  and  was 
just  going  to  step  down  the  cabin  stairs  as  Lady  Knightsbridge 
ascended  from  them.  To  draw  back,  to  make  a  most  profound 
curtsey,  to  exclaim,  "  Lady  Knightsbridge !  I  have  had  the 
honor  of  seeing  your  ladyship  at — hum — hum — hum  "  (this 
word  I  could  not  catch) — "  House," — all  these  feats  were  per- 
formed by  Lady  Kicklebury  in  one  instant,  and  acknowledged 
with  the  usual  calmness  by  the  younger  lady. 

"  And  may  I  hope,"  continues  Lady  Kicklebury,  "  that  that 
nost  beautiful  of  all  children — a  mother  may  say  so — that  Lord 
Pimlico  has  recovered  his  hooping-cough  1  We  were  so  anx- 
ious about  him.  Our  medical  attendant  is  Mr.  Topham,  and 
he  used  to  come  from  Knightsbridge  House  to  Pocklington 
Square,  often  ai.d  often.  I  am  interested  about  the  hooping- 
cough.  My  own  dear  boy  had  it  most  severely  ;  that  dear  girl, 
my  eldest  daughter,  whom  you  see  stretched  on  the  bench — 
she  is  in  a  very  delicate  state,  and  only  lately  married — not 
such  a  match  as  I  could  have  wished  :  but  Mr.  Milliken  is  of  a 
good  family,  distantly  related  to  your  ladyship's.  A  Milliken, 
in  George  the  Third's  reign,  married  a  Baltimore,  and  the  Bal- 
timores,  I  think,  are  your  first-cousins.  They  married  this  year, 
and  Lavinia  is  so  fond  of  me,  that  she  can't  part  with  me,  and 
I  have  come  abroad  just  to  please  her.  We  are  going  to  Noir- 
bourg.  I  think  I  heard  from  my  son  that  Lord  Knightsbridge 
was  at  Noirbourg." 

"  I  believe  1  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Sir  Thomas 
Kicklebury  at  Knightsbridge  House,"  Lady  Knightsbridge 
said,  with  something  of  sadness. 

"  Indeed  !  "  and  Kicklebury  had  never  told  her  !  He  laughed 
at  her  when  she  talked  about  great  people  :  he  told  her  all 
sorts  of  ridiculous  stories  when  upon  this  theme.     But,  at  any 


MY  LADY  THE  COUNTESJS. 


MORE  WIND  THAN  IS  PLEASANT. 


THE  KICKLEBURVS  OiV  THE  RHINE.  127 

rate,  the  acquaintance  was  made  :  Lady  Kicklebury  would  not 
leave  Lady  Knightsbridge  ;  and,  even  in  tlie  tliroes  of  sea- 
sickness, and  the  secret  recesses  of  the  cabin,  would  talk  to  her 
about  the  world.  Lord  Pimlico,  and  her  father.  General  Guff, 
late  aide-de-camp  to  the  Duke  of  York. 

That  those  throes  of  sickness  ensued,  I  need  not  say.  A 
short  time  after  passing  Ramsgate,  Serjeant  Lankin.  who  hac? 
been  exceedingly  gay  and  satirical  —  (in  his  calm  way  ,  he 
quotes  Horace,  my  favorite  bits  as  an  author,  to  myself,  and 
has  a  quiet  snigger,  and,  so  to  speak,  amontillado  flavor,  ex- 
ceedingly pleasant) — Lankin,  with  a  rueful  and  livid  counte 
nance,  descended  into  his  berth,  in  the  which  that 'six  foot  0/ 
Serjeant  packed  himself  I  don't  know  how. 

When  Lady  Knightsbridge  went  down,  down  with  Kickle- 
bury. Milliken  and  his  wife  stayed,  and  were  ill  together  or 
deck.  A  palm  of  glory  ought  to  be  awarded  to  that  man  for 
his  angelic  patience,  energy,  and  suffering.  It  was  he  who 
went  for  Mrs.  Milliken's  maid,  who  wouldn't  come  to  her  mis- 
tress ;  it  was  he,  the  shyest  of  men,  who  stormed  the  ladies' 
cabin — that  maritime  harem — in  order  to  get  her  mother's 
bottle  of  salts  ;  it  was  he  who  went  for  the  brandy-and-water, 
and  begged,  and  prayed,  and  besought  his  adored  Lavinia  to 
taste  a  leetle  drop.  Lavinia's  reply  was,  "  Don't — go  away — • 
don't  tease,  Horace,"  and  so  forth.  And,  when  not  wanted, 
the  gentle  creature  subsided  on  the  bench,  by  his  wife's  feet, 
and  was  sick  in  silence. 

\_Afem — In  married  life,  it  seems  to  me,  that  it  is  almost 
always  Milliken  and  wife,  or  just  the  contrary.  The  angels 
minister  to  the  tyrants  •  or  the  gentle  henpecked  husband 
cowers  before  the  superior  partlet.  If  ever  I  marry,  I  know 
the  sort  of  woman  /will  choose  ;  and  I  won't  try  her  temper  by 
over-indulgence,  and  destroy  her  fine  qualities  by  a  ruinous 
subserviency  to  her  wishes.] 

Little  Miss  Fanny  stayed  on  deck,  as  well  as  her  sister,  and 
looked  at  the  stars  of  heaven  as  they  began  to  shine  there,  and 
at  the  Foreland  lights  as  we  passed  them.  I  would  have  talked 
with  her  ;  I  would  have  suggested  images  of  poesy,  and  thoughts 
of  beauty  ;  I  would  have  whispered  the  word  of  sentiment — 
the  delicate  allusion — the  breathing  of  the  soul  that  longs  to 
find  a  congenial  heart  —  the  sorrows  and  aspirations  of  the 
wounded  spirit,  stricken  and  sad,  yet  not  quite  despairing ;  still 
knowing  that  the  hope-plant  lurked  in  its  crushed  ruins — still 
able  to  gaze  on  the  stars  and  the  ocean,  and  love  their  blazing 
sheen,  their  boundless  azure.     I  would,  I  say,  have  taken  the 

9* 


128  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 

opportunity  of  that  stilly  night  to  lay  bare  to  her  the  treasures 
of  a  heart  that,  I  am  happy  to  say,  is  young  still ;  but  circum- 
stances forbade  the  frank  outpouring  of  my  poet  soul :  in  a 
word,  I  was  obliged  to  go  and  lie  down  on  the  flat  of  my  back, 
and  endeavor  to  control  other  emotions  which  struggled  in  my 
breast. 

Once,  in  the  night-watches,  I  arose,  and  came  on  deck  ;  the 
vessel  was  not,  methought,  pitching  much ;  and  yet — and  yet 
Neptune  was  inexorable.  The  placid  stars  looked  down,  but 
they  gave  me  no  peace.  Lavinia  Milliken  seemed  asleep,  and 
her  Horace,  in  a  death-like  torpor,  was  huddled  at  her  feet. 
Miss  Fanny  had  quitted  the  larboard  side  of  the  ship,  and  had 
gone  to  starboard ;  and  I  thought  that  there  was  a  gentleman 
beside  her  ?  but  I  could  not  see  very  clearly,  and  returned  to  the 
horrid  crib,  where  Lankin  was  asleep,  and  the  German  fiddler 
underneath  him  was  snoring  like  his  own  violoncello. 

In  the  morning  we  were  all  as  brisk  as  bees.  We  were  in 
the  smooth  waters  of  the  lazy  Scheldt.  The  stewards  began 
preparing  breakfast  with  that  matutinal  eagerness  which  they 
always  show.  The  sleepers  in  the  cabin  were  roused  from  their 
horse-hair  couches  by  the  stewards'  boys  nudging,  and  pushing, 
and  flapping  table-cloths  over  them.  I  shaved  and  made  a 
neat  toilette,  and  came  upon  deck  just  as  we  lay  off  that  little 
Dutch  fort,  which  is,  I  dare  say,  described  in  "  Murray's  Guide- 
book," and  about  which  I  had  some  rare  banter  with  poor 
Hicks  and  Lady  Kicklebury,  whose  sense  of  humor  was  cer- 
tainly not  very  keen.  He  had,  somehow,  joined  her  ladyship's 
party,  and  they  were  looking  at  the  fort,  and  its  tri-colored  flag 
— that  floats  familiar  in  Vandevelde's  pictures — and  at  the  lazy 
shipping,  and  the  tall  roofs,  and  the  dumpy  church  towers,  and 
flat  pastures,  lying  before  us  in  a  Cuyp-like  haze. 

I  am  sorry  to  say,  I  told  them  the  most  awful  fibs  about 
that  fort.  How  it  had  been  defended  by  the  Dutch  patriot, 
Van  Swammerdam,  against  the  united  forces  of  the  Duke  of 
Alva,  and  Marshal  Turenne,  whose  leg  was  shot  off  as  life  was 
leading  the  last  unsuccessful  assault,  and  who  turned  round 
to  his  aide-de-camp  and  said,  "  Allez  dire  au  Premier  Consul, 
que  je  meurs  avec  regret  de  ne  pas  avoir  assez  fait  pour  la 
France  ! "  which  gave  Lady  Kicklebury  an  opportunity  to 
placer  her  story  of  the  Duke  of  York,  ancl  the  bombardment  of 
Valenciennes  ;  and  caused  young  Hicks  to  look  at  me  in  a 
puzzled  and  appealing  manner  and  hint  that  I  was  "  chafting." 

"  Chafiing  indeed!"  says  I,  with  a  particularly  arch  eye- 
twinkle  at  Miss  Fanny.     "  I  wouldn't  make  fun  otjou,  Cantain 


^' WE  CALL  TIIOSP:  UGLIES  !    CAPTAIN   lIICKb.' 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 


129 


Hicks  !  If  you  doubt  my  historical  accuracy,  look  at  the  '  Bio- 
graphic Universelle.'  I  say — look  at  the  '  Biographic  Univer- 
sella.'  " 

He  said,  "  O — ah — the  '  Biogwaphie  Universelle  '  may  be 
all  vewy  well,  and  that ;  but  I  can  never  make  out  whether  you 
are  joking  or  not,  somehow  ;  and  I  always  fancy  you  are  going 
to  caivickachaw  me.  Ha  ha !  "  And  he  laughed,  the  gv'ocl- 
natured  dragoon  laughed,  and  fancied  he  had  made  a  joke. 

1  entreated  him  not  to  be  so  severe  upon  me  ;  and  agair 
he  said,  "  Haw  haw !  "  and  told  me,  "  I  musn't  expect  to  have 
it  all  ;//_)'  intm  way,  and  if  I  gave  a  hit,  I  must  expect  a  Punch 
in  return.     Haw  haw  !  "     Oh,  you  honest  young  Hicks  ! 

Everybody,  indeed,  was  in  high  spirits.  The  fog  cleared 
off,  the  sun  shone,  the  ladies  chatted  and  laughed,  even  Mrs. 
Milliken  was  in  good  humor  ("  My  wife  is  all  intellect,"  Milli- 
ken  says,  looking  at  her  with  admiration ),  and  talked  with  us 
freely  and  gayly.  She  was  kind  enough  to  say  that  it  was  a 
great  pleasure  to  meet  with  a  literary  and  well-informed  person 
— that  one  often  lived  with  people  that  did  not  comprehend 
one.  She  asked  if  my  companion,  that  tall  gentleman — Mr. 
Serjeant  Lankin,  was  he  ? — was  literary.  And  when  I  said 
that  Lankin  knew  more  Greek,  and  more  Latin,  and  more  law, 
and  more  history,  and  more  everything,  than  all  the  passengers 
put  together,  she  vouchsafed  to  look  at  him  with  interest,  and 
enter  into  a  conversation  with  my  modest  friend  the  Serjeant. 
Then  it  was  that  her  adoring  husband  said  "his  Lavinia  was 
All  intellect  ; " — Lady  Kicklebury  saying  that  she  was  not  a 
literary  woman  ;  that  in  //tv  day  few  acquirements  were  requisite 
for  the  British  female  ;  but  that  she  knew  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
and  her  duty  as  a  another,  and  that  "  Lavinia  and  Fanny  had 
had  the  best  masters  and  the  best  education  which  money  and 
constant  maternal  solicitude  could  impart."  If  our  matrons 
are  virtuous,  as  they  are,  and  it  is  Britain's  boast,  permit  me 
to  say  that  they  certainly  know  it. 

The  conversation  growing  powerfully  intellectual  under 
Mrs.  Milliken,  poor  Hicks  naturally  became  uneasy,  and  put 
an  end  to  literature  by  admiring  the  ladies'  head-dresses. 
"  Cab-heads,  hoods,  what  do  you  call  'em  ?  he  asked  of  Miss 
Kicklebury.  Indeed,  she  and  her  sister  wore  a  couple  of 
those  blue  silk  over-bonnets,  which  have  lately  become  the 
fashion,  and  which  I  never  should  have  mentioned  but  for  the 
young  lady's  reply. 

"Those  hoods  !"  she  said — "' ive  call  those  hoods  C'glies ! 
Captain  Hicks." 


I30 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 


Oh,  how  pretty  she  looked  as  she  said  it !  The  blue  eyei 
looked  up  under  the  blue  hood,  so  archly  and  gayly  ;  ever  so 
many  dimples  began  playing  about  her  face  ;  her  little  voice 
rang  so  fresh  and  sweet,  that  a  heart  which  has  never  loved  a 
tree  or  flower  but  the  vegetable  in  question  was  sure  to  perish 
— a  heart  worn  down  and  sickened  by  repeated  disappointment, 
mockery,  faithlessness  —  a  heart  whereof  despair  is  an  ac- 
customed tenant,  and  in  whose  desolate  and  lonely  depths 
dwells  an  abiding  gloom,  began  to  throb  once  more — began  to 
beckon   Hope   from  the  window — began   to   admit   sunshine — ■ 

began  to O  P'olly,  Folly!     O  Fanny!     O  Miss  K.,  how 

lovely  you  looked  as  vou  said   "  We  call  those  hoods  Uglies  !  " 
Ugly  indeed  I 

This  is  a  chronicle  of  feelings  and  characters,  not  of  events 
and  places,  so  much.  All  this  time  our  vessel  was  making  rapid 
way  up  the  river,  and  we  saw  before  us  the  slim  towers  of  the 
noble  cathedral  of  Antwerp  soaring  in  the  rosy  sunshine. 
Lankin  and  I  had  agreed  to  go  to  the  "Grand  Laboureur,"  on 
the  Place  de  Meir.  They  give  you  a  particular  kind  of  jam-tarts 
there — called  Nun's  tarts,  I  think — that  I  remember,  these 
twenty  years,  as  the  very  best  tarts — as  good  as  the  tarts  which 
we  ate  when  we  were  boys.  The  "  Laboureur  "  is  a  dear  old 
quiet  comfortable  hotel ;  and  there  is  no  man  in  England  who 
likes  a  good  dinner  better  than  Lankin. 

'•  What  hotel  do  you  go  to  ?  "     I  asked  of  Lady  Kicklebury, 

"  We  go  to  the  '  Saint  Antoine  '  of  course.  Everybody  goes 
to  the  'Saint  Antoine,'"  her  ladyship  said.  "We  propose  to 
rest  here  ;  to  do  the  Rubens's ;  and  to  proceed  to  Cologne  to- 
morrow. Horace,  call  Finch  and  Bowman  ;  and  your  courier, 
if  he  will  have  the  condescension  to  wait  upon  7ne,  will  perhaps 
look  to  the  baggage." 

"  I  think,  Lankin,"  said  I,  "  as  everybody  seems  going  to 
the  '  Saint  Antoine,'  we  may  as  well  go,  and  not  spoil  the 
party." 

"  I  think  V\\  go  too,''  says  Hicks  ;  as  if  he  belonged  to  the 
party. 

And  oh.  it  was  a  great  sight  when  we  landed,  and  at  every 
place  at  which  we  paused  afterwards,  to  see  Hirsch  over  the 
Kicklebury  baggage,  and  hear  his  polyglot  maledictions  at  the 
porters  !  1  f  a  man  sometimes  feels  sad  and  lonely  at  his  bachelor 
condition,  if  some  feelings  of  envy  pervade  his  heart,  at  seeing 
beauty  on  another's  arm,  and  kind  eyes  directed  towards  a 
happier  mug  than  his  own — at  least  there  are  some  consolations 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE.  131 

in  travelling,  when  a  fellow  has  but  one  little  portmanteau  or 
bag  which  he  can  easily  shoulder,  and  thinks  of  the  innumerable 
bags  and  trunks  which  the  married  man  and  the  father  drags 
after  him.  The  married  Briton  on  a  tour  is  but  a  luggage 
overseer :  his  luggage  is  his  morning  thought,  and  his  nightly 
terror.  When  he  floats  along  the  Rhine  he  has  one  eye  on 
a  ruin,  and  the  other  on  his  luggage.  When  he  is  in  the 
railroad  he  is  always  thinking,  or  ordered  by  his  wife  to  think, 
"  Is  the  luggage  safe  ?  "  It  clings  round  him.  It  never 
.eaves  him  (except  when  it  does  leave  him,  as  a  trunk  or  two 
will,  and  make  him  doubly  miserable).  His  carpet-bags  lie  on 
his  chest  at  night,  and  his  wife's  forgotten  bandbox  haunts  his 
turbid  dreams. 

I  think  it  was  after  she  found  that  Lady  Kicklebury  proposed 
to  go  to  the  "  Grand  Saint  Antoine  "  that  Lady  Knightsbridge 
put  herself  with  her  maid  into  a  carriage  and  went  to  the  other 
inn.  We  saw  her  at  the  cathedral,  where  she  kept  aloof  from 
our  party.  Milliken  went  up  the  tower,  and  so  did  Miss  Fanny. 
I  am  too  old  a  traveller  to  mount  up  those  immeasurable  stairs, 
for  the  purpose  of  making  myself  dizzy  by  gazing  upon  a  vast 
map  of  low  countries  stretched  beneath  me,  and  waited  with 
Mrs.  Milliken  and  her  mother  below. 

When  the  tower-climbers  descended,  we  asked  Miss  Fanny 
and  her  brother  what  they  had  seen. 

"We  saw  Captain  Hicks  up  there,"  remarked  Milliken, 
"  And  I  am  very  glad  you  didn't  come,  Lavinia,  my  love. 
The  excitement  would  have  been  too  much  for  you,  quite  too 
much." 

All  this  while  Lady  Kicklebury  was  looking  at  Fanny,  and 
Fanny  was  holding  her  eyes  down  ;  and  I  knew  that  between 
her  and  this  poor  Hicks  there  could  be  nothing  serious,  for  she 
had  laughed  at  him  and  mimicked  him  to  me  half  a  dozen  times 
in  the  course  of  the  day. 

We  "  do  the  Rubens's,"  as  Lady  Kicklebury  says  ;  we  trudge 
from  cathedral  to  picture-gallery,  from  church  to  church.  We 
see  the  calm  old  city,  with  its  towers  and  gables,  the  bourse, 
and  the  vast  town-hall  ;  and  I  have  the  honor  to  give  Lady 
Kicklebury  my  arm  during  these  peregrinations,  and  to  hear  a 
hundred  particulars  regarding  her  ladyship's  life  and  family. 
How  Milliken  has  been  recently  building  at  Pigeoncot  ;  how 
he  will  have  two  thousand  a  year  more  when  his  uncle  dies  ; 
how  she  had  peremptorily  to  put  a  stop  to  the  assiduities  of 
that  unprincipled  young  man,  Lord  Roughhead,  whom  Lavinia 
always  detested,  and  who  married  Miss  Brent  out  of  sheer  pique. 


132 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 


It  was  a  great  escape  for  her  darling  Lavinia.  Roughhead  is 
a  most  wild  and  dissipated  young  man,  one  of  Kicklebury's 
Christchurch  friends,  of  whom  her  son  has  too  many,  alas ! 
and  she  enters  into  many  particulars  respecting  the  conduct  of 
Kicklebury — the  unhappy  boy's  smoking,  his  love  of  billiards, 
his  fondness  for  the  turf:  she  fears  he  has  already  injure;!  his 
income,  she  fears  he  is  even  now  playing  at  Noirbourg  \  she  is 
going  thither  to  wean  him,  if  possible,  from  his  companions  and 
his  gayeties — what  may  not  a  mother  effect  ?  She  only  wrote 
to  him  the  day  before  they  left  London  to  announce  that  she 
was  marching  on  him  with  her  family.  He  is  in  many  respects 
like  his  poor  father — the  same  openness  and  frankness,  the 
same  easy  disposition  :  alas  !  the  same  love  of  pleasure.  But 
she  had  reformed  the  father,  and  will  do  her  utmost  to  call  back 
her  dear  misguided  boy.  She  had  an  advantageous  match  for 
him  in  view — a  lady  not  beautiful  in  person,  it  is  true,  but  pos- 
sessed of  every  good  principle,  and  a  very,  very  handsome 
fortune.  It  was  under  pretence  of  flying  from  this  lady  that 
Kicklebury  left  town.     But  she  knew  better. 

I  say  young  men  will  be  young  men,  and  sow  their  wild  oats, 
and  think  to  myself  that  the  invasion  of  his  mamma  will  be 
perhaps  more  surprising  than  j^leasant  to  young  Sir  Thomas 
Kicklebury,  and  that  she  possibly  talks  about  herself  and  her 
family,  and  her  virtues  and  her  daughters,  a  little  too  much  : 
but  she  will  make  a  confidant  of  me,  and  all  the  time  we  are 
doing  the  Rubens's  she  is  talking  of  the  pictures  at  Kicklebury, 
of  her  portrait  by  Lawrence,  pronounced  to  be  his  finest  work, 
of  Lavinia's  talent  for  drawing,  and  the  expense  of  Fanny's 
music-masters  ;  of  her  house  in  town  (where  she  hopes  to  see 
me) ;  of  her  parties  which  were  stopped  by  the  illness  of  her 
butler.  She  talks  Kicklebury  until  I  am  sick.  And  oh,  Miss 
Fanny,  all  of  this  I  endure,  like  an  old  fool,  for  an  occasional 
sight  of  your  bright  eyes  and  rosy  face  ! 

[Another  parenthesis. — "  We  hope  to  see  you  in  town,  Mr. 
Titmarsh."  Foolish  mockery !  If  all  the  people  whom  one  has 
met  abroad,  and  who  have  said,  "We  hope  to  meet  you  often 
in  town,"  had  but  made  any  the  slightest  efforts  to  realize  their 
hopes  by  sending  a  simple  line  of  invitation  through  the  jDcnny 
post,  what  an  enormous  dinner  acquaintance  one  would  have 
had !  But  I  mistrust  people  who  say,  "We  hope  to  see  you  in 
town."] 

Lankin  comes  in  at  the  end  of  the  day,  just  before  dinner 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  OiV  THE  RHTXE 


133 


time.  He  has  paced  the  wliole  town  by  himself — church,  tower, 
and  fortifications,  and  Rubens,  and  all.  He  is  full  of  Egmont 
and  Alva.  He  is  up  to  all  the  history  of  the  siege,  when 
Chassee  defended,  and  the  French  attacked  the  place.  After 
dinner  we  stroll  along  the  quays ;  and  over  the  quiet  cigar  in 
the  hotel  court,  Monsieur  Lankin  discourses  about  the  Rubens 
pictures,  in  a  way  which  shows  that  the  learned  Serjeant  has 
an  eye  for  pictorial  beauty  as  well  as  other  beauties  in  this  world, 
and  can  rightly  admire  the  vast  energy,  the  prodigal  genius,  the 
royal  splendor  of  the  King  of  Antwerp.  In  the  most  modest 
way  in  the  world  he  has  remarked  a  student  making  clever 
sketches  at  the  Museum,  and  has  ordered  a  couple  of  copies 
from  him  of  the  famous  Vandyke  and  the  wondrous  adoration 
of  the  Magi,  "a  greater  picture,"  says  he,  "than  even  the  ca- 
thedral picture  ;  in  which  opinion  those  may  agree  who  like." 
He  says  he  thinks  Miss  Kicklebury  is  a  pretty  little  thing;  that 
all  my  swans  are  geese ;  and  that  as  for  that  old  woman,  with 
her  airs  and  graces,  she  is  the  most  intolerable  old  nuisance  in 
the  world.  There  is  much  good  judgment,  but  there  is  too 
much  sardonic  humor  about  Lankin.  He  cannot  appreciate 
women  properly.  He  is  spoiled  by  being  an  old  bachelor,  and 
living  in  that  dingy  old  Pump  Court ;  where,  by  the  way,  he  has 
a  cellar  fit  for  a  Pontiff.  We  go  to  rest ;  they  have  given  us 
humble  lodgings  high  up  in  the  building,  which  we  accept  like 
philosophers  who  travel  with  but  a  portmanteau  a-piece.  The 
Kickleburys  have  the  grand  suite,  as  becomes  their  dignity. 
Which,  which  of  those  twinkling  lights  illumines  the  chamber 
of  Miss  Fanny? 

Hicks  is  sitting  in  the  court  too,  smoicing  his  cigar.  He 
and  Lankin  met  in  the  fortifications.  Lankin  says  he  is  a  sen- 
sible fellow,  and  seems  to  know  his  profession.  "Every  man 
can  talk  well  about  something,"  the  Serjeant  says.  "  And  one 
man  can  about  everything,"  says  I  ;  at  which  Lankin  blushes; 
and  we  take  our  flaring  tallow  candles  and  go  to  bed.  He  has 
us  up  an  hour  before  the  starting  time,  and  we  have  that  period 
to  admire  Herr  Oberkellner,  who  swaggers  as  becomes  the 
Oberkellner  of  a  house  frequented  by  ambassadors  ;  who  con- 
tradicts us  to  our  faces,  and  whose  own  countenance  is  orna- 
mented with  yesterday's  beard,  of  which,  or  of  any  part  of  his 
clothing,  the  graceful  youth  does  not  appear  to  have  divested 
himself  since  last  we  left  him.  We  recognize,  somewhat  dingy 
and  faded,  the  elaborate  shirt-front  which  appeared  at  yester- 
day's banquet.  Farewell,  Herr  Oberkellner !  May  we  never 
see  your  handsome  countenance,  washed  or  unwashed,  shaven 
or  unshorn,  again ! 


134  TYZ-ff  K'ICKLEBURYS  OX  THE  RHINE. 

Here  come  the  ladies  :  "  Good-morning,  Miss  Fanny."  "  1 
hope  you  slept  well,  Lady  Kicklebury  ?  "  '"A  tremendous  bill  ?  " 
"  No  wonder ;  how  can  you  expect  otherwise,  when  you  have 
such  a  bad  dinner  ?  "  Hearken  to  Hirsch's  comminations  over 
the  luggage  !  Look  at  the  honest  Belgian  soldiers,  and  that  fat 
Freyschiitz  on  guard,  his  rifle  in  one  hand,  and  the  other  hand 
in  his  pocket.  Captain  Hicks  bursts  into  a  laugh  at  the  sight 
of  the  fat  Freyschiitz,  and  says,  "  By  Jove,  Titmarsh,  you  must 
cawickachaw  him."  And  we  take  our  seats  at  length  and  at 
leisure,  and  the  railway  trumpets  blow,  and  (save  for  a  brief 
halt)  we  never  stop  till  night,  trumpeting  by  green  flats  and  pas- 
tures, by  broad  canals  and  old  towns,  through  Lie'ge  and 
Verviers,  through  Aix  and  Cologne,  till  we  are  landed  at  Bonn 
at  nightfall. 

We  all  have  supper,  or  tea — we  have  become  pretty  intimate 
— we  look  at  the  strangers'  book,  as  a  matter  of  course,  in  the 
great  room  of  the  "Star  Hotel."  Why,  everybody  is  on  the 
Rhine  !     Here  are  the  names  of  half  one's  acquaintance. 

"  I  see  Lord  and  Lady  Exborough  are  gone  on,"  says  Lady 
Kicklebury,  whose  eye  fastens  naturally  on  her  kindred  aris- 
tocracy. "  Lord  and  Lady  Wyebridge  and  suite.  Lady  Zedland 
and  her  family." 

"  Hullo !  here's  Cutler  of  the  Onety-oneth,  and  MacMuU 
of  the  Greens,  e?i  route  to  Noirbourg,"  says  Hicks,  confidentiallv. 
"  Know  MacMull  ?  Devilish  good  fellow — such  a  fellow  to 
smoke." 

Lankin,  too,  reads  and  grins.  "  Why,  are  they  going  the 
Rhenish  circuit  ?  "  he  says,  and  reads  : 

Sir  Thomas  IMinps,  Lady  Minos,  nebst  Begleitung,  aus 
England. 

Sir  John  ^-Eacus,  mit  Familie  und  Dienerschaft,  aus  England. 

Sir  Roger  Rhadamanthus. 

Thomas  Smith,  Serjeant. 

Serjeant  Brown  and  Mrs.  Brown,  aus  England. 

Serjeant  Tomkins,  Anglais.  Madame  Tomkins,  Mesde- 
moiselles  Tomkins. 

Monsieur  Kewsy,  Conseiller  de  S.  M.  la  Reine  d'Angleterre. 
Mrs.  Kewsy,  three  Miss  Kewsys. 

And  to  this  list  Lankin,  laughing,  had  put  down  his  own 
name,  and  that  of  the  reader's  obedient  servant,  under  the 
august  autograph  of  Lady  Kicklebury,  who  signed  for  herself, 
her  son-in-law,  and  her  suite. 

Yes,  we  all  flock  the  one  after  the  other,  we  faithful  English 
folks.     We  can  buy  Harvey  Sauce,  and  Cayenne  Pepper,  and 


HIRSCH  AND  THE  LUGGAGE. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE.  133 

Morison's  Pills,  in  every  city  in  the  world.  We  carry  our  na- 
tion everywhere  with  us  ;  and  are  in  our  island,  wherever  we  go. 
Toio  divisos  orhc — always  separated  from  the  people  in  the  midst 
of  whom  we  are. 

When  we  came  to  the  steamer  next  morning,  "  the  castled 
crag  of  Drachenfels  "  rose  up  in  the  sunrise  before,  and  looked 
as  pink  as  the  cheeks  of  Master  Jacky,  when  they  have  been 
just  washed  in  the  morning.  How  that  rosy  light,  too,  did 
become  Miss  Fanny's  pretty  dimples,  to  be  sure  !  How  good 
a  cigar  is  at  the  early  dawn  !  I  maintain  that  it  has  a  flavor 
which  it  does  not  possess  at  later  hours,  and  that  it  partakes  of 
the  freshness  of  all  Nature.  And  wine,  too  :  wine  is  never  so 
good  as  at  breakfast ;  only  one  can't  drink  it,  for  tipsiness's 
sake. 

See  !  there  is  a  young  fellow  drinking  soda-water  and  brandy 
already.  He  puts'down  his  glass  with  a  gasp  of  satisfaction, 
It  is  evident  that  he  had  need  of  that  fortifier  and  refresher, 
He  puts  down  the  beaker  and  says,  "  How  are  you,  Titmarsh  ? 
I  was  so  cut  last  night.  My  eyes,  wasn't  I  !  Not  in  the  least  : 
that's  all." 

It  is  the  youthful  descendant  and  heir  of  an  ancient  line : 
the  noble  Earl  of  Grimsby's  son,  Viscount  Talboys.  He  is 
travelling  with  the  Rev.  Baring  Leader,  his  tutor ;  who,  having 
a  great  natural  turn  and  liking  towards  the  aristocracy,  and 
having  inspected  Lady  Kicklebury's  cards  on  her  trunks,  has 
introduced  himself  to  her  ladyship  already,  and  has  inquired 
after  Sir  Thomas  Kicklebur)',  whom  he  remembers  perfectly, 
and  whom  he  had  often  the  happiness  of  meeting  when  Sir 
Thomas  was  an  undergraduate  at  Oxford.  There  are  few 
characters  more  amiable,  and  delightful  to  watch  and  contem- 
plate, than  some  of  those  middle-aged  Oxford  bucks  who  hang 
about  the  university  and  live  with  the  young  tufts.  Leader  can 
talk  racing  and  boating  with  the  fastest  young  Christchurch 
gentleman.  Leader  occasionally  rides  to  cover  with  Lord 
Talboys ;  is  a  good  shot,  and  seldom  walks  out  without  a  setter 
or  a  spaniel  at  his  heels.  Leader  knows  the  ''  Peerage  "  and 
the  "Racing  Calendar"  as  well  as  the  Oxford  cram-books. 
Leader  comes  up  to  town  and  dines  with  Lord  Grimsby. 
Leader  goes  to  Court  every  two  years.  He  is  the  greatest 
swell  in  his  common-room.  He  drinks  claret,  and  can't  stand 
port-wine  any  longer ;  and  the  old  fellows  of  his  college  admire 
him,  and  pet  him,  and  get  all  their  knowledge  of  the  world  and 
the  aristocracy  from  him.     I  admire  those  kind  old  dons  when 


136  THE  kICKLEBURYS  ON  7'HE  RHINE. 

they  appear  afifable  and  jaunty,  men  of  the  world,  members  of 
the  "  Camford  and  Oxbridge  Club,"  upon  the  London  pave- 
ment. I  like  to  see  them  over  the  Morning  Post  in  the  common- 
room  ;  with  a  "  Ha,  I  see  Lady  Rackstraw  has  another 
daughter."  "  Poppleton  there  has  been  at  another  party  at  X 
House,  ?i\\i\.  you  weren't  asked,  my  boy." — "  Lord  Cover- 
dale  has  got  a  large  party  staying  at  Coverdale.  Did  you  know 
him  at  Christchurch  ?  He  was  a  very  handsome  man  before 
he  broke  his  nose  fighting  the  bargeman  at  Ififly  :  a  light-weight, 
but  a  beautiful  sparrer,"  &c.  Let  me  add  that  Leader,  although 
he  does  love  a  tuft,  has  a  kind  heart :  as  his  mother  and  sisters 
in  Yorkshire  know  ;  as  all  the  village  knows  too — which  is 
proud  of  his  position  in  the  great  world,  and  welcomes  him 
very  kindly  when  he  comes  down  and  takes  the  duty  at  Christ- 
mas, and  preaches  to  them  one  or  two  of  "  the  very  sermons 
which  Lord  Grimsby  was  good  enough  to  like,  when  I  delivered 
them  at  Talboys." 

"  You  are  not  acquainted  with  Lord  Talboys  ?  "  Leader 
asks,  with  a  degage  air.  "  I  shall  have  much  pleasure  in  intro- 
ducing you  to  him.  Talboys,  let  me  introduce  you  to  Lady 
Kicklebury.  Sir  Thomas  Kicklebury  was  not  at  Christchurch 
in  your  time  ;  but  you  have  heard  of  him,  I  dare  say.  Your 
son  has  left  a  reputation  at  Oxford." 

"  I  should  think  I  have,  too.  He  walked  a  hundred  miles 
in  a  hundred  hours.  They  said  he  bet  that  he'd  drink  a  hun- 
dred pints  of  beer  in  a  hundred  hours  :  but  I  don't  think  he 
could  do  it — not  strong  beer ;  don't  think  any  man  could. 
The  beer  here  isn't  worth  a " 

"  My  dear  Talboys,"  says  Leader,  with  a  winning  smile,  "  I 
suppose  Lady  Kicklebury  is  not  a  judge  of  beer — and  what  an 
unromantic  subject  of  conversation  here,  under  the  castled  crag 
immortalized  by  Byron." 

"What  the  deuce  does  it  mean  about  peasant-girls  with 
dark -blue  eyes,  and  hands  that  offer  corn  and  wine  ?  "  asks 
Talboys.  "  Fve  never  seen  any  peasant-girls,  except  the — 
ugliest  set  of  woman  I  ever  looked  at." 

"  The  poet's  license.  I  see,  Milliken,  you  are  making  a 
charming  sketch.  You  used  to  draw  when  you  were  at  Brase- 
nose,  Milliken  ;  and  play — yes,  you  played  the  violoncello." 

Mr.  Milliken  still  possessed  these  accomplishments.  He 
was  taken  up  that  very  evening  by  a  soldier  at  Coblentz,  for 
making  a  sketch  of  Ehrenbreitstein.  Mrs.  Milliken  sketches 
immensely  too,  and  writes  poetry  :  such  dreary  pictures,  such 
dreary  poems  !  but  professional  people  are  proverbially  jealous  ; 


AX  HF.REDITARY  LEGISLATOR 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  OjV  THE  RHINE. 


137 


and  I  doubt  whether  our  fellow-passenger,  the  German,  v/ould 
even  allow  that  Milliken  could  play  the  violoncello. 

Lady  Kicklebury  gives  Miss  Fanny  a  nudge  when  Lord 
Talboys  appears,  and  orders  her  to  exert  all  her  fascinations. 
How  the  old  lady  coaxes,  and  she  wheedles  !  She  pours  out 
the  Talboys'  pedigree  upon  him  ;  and  asks  after  his  aunt,  and 
his  mother's  family.  Is  he  going  to  Noirbourg  ?  How  delight- 
ful !  There  is  nothing  like  British  spirits ;  and  to  see  an 
P^nglish  matron  well  set  upon  a  young  man  of  large  fortune  and 
high  rank,  is  a  great  and  curious  sight. 

And  yet,  somehow,  the  British  doggedness  does  not  always 
answer.  "  Do  you  know  that  old  woman  in  the  drab  jacket, 
Titmarsh  ?  "  my  hereditary  legislator  asks  of  me.  "  What  the 
devil  is  she  bothering  me  for,  about  my  aunts,  and  setting  her 
daughter  at  me  ?  I  ain't  such  a  fool  as  that.  I  ain't  clever, 
Titmarsh  ;  I  never  said  I  was.  I  never  pretend  to  be  clever, 
and  that  —  but  why  does  that  old  fool  bother  me,  hay  ? 
Heigho  !  I'm  devilish  thirsty.  I  was  devilish  cut  last  night. 
I  think  I  must  have  another  go-off.  Hallo  you !  Kellner  ! 
Garsong !  Ody  soda,  Oter  petty  vare  do  dyvee  de  Conac. 
That's  your  sort ;  isn't  it,  Leader?" 

"  You  will  speak  French  well  enough,  if  you  practice,"  says 
Leader  with  a  tender  voice;  "practice  is  everything.  Shall  we 
dine  at  the  table-d'hote  ?  Waiter  !  put  down  the  name  of  Vis- 
count Talboys  and  Mr.  Leader,  if  you  please." 

The  boat  is  full  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men.  For'ard, 
there  are  peasants  and  soldiers  :  stumpy,  jDlacid-looking  little 
warriors  for  the  most  part,  smoking  feeble  cigars  and  looking 
quite  harmless  under  their  enormous  helmets.  A  poor  stunted 
dull-looking  boy  of  sixteen,  staggering  before  a  black-striped 
sentry-box,  with  an  enormous  musket  on  his  shoulder,  does  not 
seem  to  me  a  martial  or  awe-inspiring  object.  Has  it  not  been 
said  that  we  carry  our  prejudices  everywhere,  and  only  admire 
what  we  are  accustomed  to  admire  in  our  own  country  t 

Yonder  walks  a  handsome  young  soldier  who  has  just  been 
marrying  a  wife.  How  happy  they  seem  !  and  how  pleased 
that  everybody  should  remark  their  happiness.  It  is  a  fact 
that  in  the  full  sunshine,  and  before  a  couple  of  hundred 
people  on  board  the  Joseph  Miller  steamer,  the  soldier  abso- 
lutely kissed  Mrs.  Soldier ;  at  which  the  sweet  Fanny  Kickle- 
bury was  made  to  blush. 

We  were  standing  together  looking  at  the  various  groups  : 
the  pretty  peasant-woman  (really  pretty  for  once)  with  the  red 
head-dress  and  fluttering   ribbons,  and  the  child  in  her  arms  \ 

10 


138  THE  KICKLEBURYS  OX  THE  RHINE. 

the  jolly  fat  old  gentleman  (who  little  thought  he  would  evei 
be  a  frontispiece  in  this  life),  and  who  was  drinking  Rhine  wine 
before  noon,  and  turning  his  back  upon  all  the  castles,  towers, 
and  ruins,  which  reflected  their  crumbling  peaks  in  the  water  ; 
upon  the  handsome  young  students  who  came  with  us  from 
Bonn,  with  their  national  colors  in  their  caps,  with  their  pic- 
turesque looks,  their  yellow  ringlets,  their  budding  mustaches, 
and  with  cuts  upon  almost  every  one  of  their  noses,  obtained  in 
duels  at  the  university  :  most  picturesque  are  these  young 
fellows,  indeed — but  ah,  why  need  they  have  such  black  hands  ? 

Near  us  is  a  type,  too  :  a  man  who  adorns  his  own  tale,  and 
points  his  own  moral.  "  Yonder,  in  his  carriage,  sits  the  Count 
de  Reineck,  who  won't  travel  without  that  dismal  old  chariot, 
though  it  is  shabby,  costly,  and  clumsy,  and  though  the  wicked 
red  republicans  come  and  smoke  under  his  very  nose.  Yes, 
Miss  Fanny,  it  is  the  lusty  young  Germany,  pulling  the  nose  of 
the  worn-out  old  world.'' 

"  Law,  what   do  you   mean,  Mr.  Titmarsh  ?  "  cries   the  dear 
Fanny. 

"  And  here  comes  Mademoiselle  de  Reineck,  with  her  com- 
panion. You  see  she  is  wearing  out  one  of  the  faded  silk 
gowns  which  she  had  spoiled  at  the  Residenz  during  the  sea- 
son :  for  the  Reineck  are  economical,  though  they  are  proud ; 
and  forced,  like  many  other  insolvent  grandees,  to  do  and  to 
wear  shabby  things. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  the  young  countess  to  call  her  com- 
panion 'Louise,'  and  to  let  Louise  call  her  'Laure;'  but  if 
faces  may  be  trusted, — and  we  can  read  in  one  countenance 
conceit  and  tyranny ;  deceit  and  slyness  in  another,  —  dear 
Louise  has  to  suffer  some  hard  raps  from  dear  Laure  :  and, 
to  judge  from  her  dress,  I  don't  think  jDOor  Louise  has  her 
salary  paid  very  regularly. 

"  What  a  comfort  it  is  to  live  in  a  country  where  there  is 
neither  insolence  nor  bankruptcy  among  the  great  folks,  nor 
cringing,  nor  flattery  among  the  small.     Isn't  it,  Miss  Fanny?  " 

Miss  Fanny  says,  that  she  can't  understand  whether  I  am 
joking  or  serious  ;  and  her  mamma  calls  her  away  to  look  at 
the  ruins  of  Wigginstein.  Everybody  looks  at  Wigginstein. 
You  are  told  in  Murray  to  look  at  Wigginstein. 

Lankin,  wlio  has  been  standing  by,  with  a  grin  every  now 
and  then  upon  his  sardonic  countenance,  comes  up  and  says, 
"  Titmars-h,  how  can  you  be  so  impertinent  ?  " 

"  Impertinent  !  as  how  ?  " 


THE  REINECKS. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 


139 


"  The  girl  must  understand  what  you  mean ;  and  you 
shouldn't  laugh  at  her  own  mother  to  her.  Did  you  ever  see 
anything  like  the  way  in  which  that  horrible  woman  is  follow- 
ing the  young  lord  about  ?  " 

"  See  !  You  see  it  every  day,  my  dear  fellow  ;  only  the 
trick  is  better  done ;  and  Lady  Kicklebury  is  rather  a  clumsy 
practitioner.  See  !  why  nobody  is  better  aware  of  the  springs 
which  are  set  to  catch  him  than  that  young  fellow  himself,  who 
is  as  knowing  as  any  veteran  in  May  Fair.  And  you  don't  sujd- 
pose  that  Lady  Kicklebury  fancies  that  she  is  doing  anything 
mean  or  anything  wrong  ?  Heaven  bless  you  !  she  never  did 
anything  wrong  in  her  life.  She  has  no  idea  but  that  every- 
thing she  says,  and  thinks,  and  does  is  right.  And  no  doubt 
she  never  did  rob  a  church :  and  was  a  faithful  wife  to  Sir 
Thomas,  and  pays  her  tradesmen.  Confound  her  virtue  !  It 
is  that  which  makes  her  so  wonderful — that  brass  armor  in 
which  she  walks  impenetrable — not  knowing  what  pity  is,  or 
charity ;  crying  sometimes  when  she  is  vexed,  or  thwarted,  but 
laughing  never;  cringing,  and  domineering  by  the  same  natutal 
instinct — never  doubting  about  herself  above  all.  Let  us  rise, 
and  revolt  against  those  people,  Lankin.  Let  us  war  with 
them,  and  smite  them  utterly.  It  is  to  use  against  these,  es- 
pecially, that  Scorn  and  Satire  were  invented." 

"  And  the  animal  you  attack,"  says  Lankin,  "  is  provided 
with  a  hide  to  defend  him  —  it  is  a  common  ordinance  of 
nature." 

And  so  we  pass  by  tower  and  town,  and  float  up  the  Rhine. 
We  don't  describe  the  river.  Who  does  not  know  it  ?  How 
you  see  people  asleep  in  the  cabins  at  the  most  picturesque 
parts,  and  angry  to  be  awakened  when  they  fire  off  those  stupid 
guns  for  the  echoes  1  It  is  as  familiar  to  numbers  of  people  as 
Greenwich  ;  and  we  know  the  merits  of  the  inns  along  the  road 
as  if  they  were  the  "Trafalgar,"  or  the  "  Star  and  Garter." 
How  stale  everything  grows  !  If  we  were  to  live  in  a  garden  of 
Eden,  now,  and  the  gate  were  open,  we  should  go  out,  and 
tramp  forward,  and  push  on,  and  get  up  early  in  the  morning, 
and  push  on  again — anything  to  keep  moving,  anything  to  get 
a  change  :  anything  but  quiet  for  the  restless  children  of  Cain. 

So  many  thousands  of  English  folks  have  been  at  Rouget- 
noirbourg  in  this  and  past  seasons,  that  it  is  scarcely  needful  to 
alter  the  name  of  that  pretty  little  gay,  wicked  place.  There 
were  s-o  many  British  barristers  there  this  year  that  they  called 


I40  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 

the  "  Hotel  des  Quatre  Saisons  "  the  "  Hotel  of  Quarter  Ses- 
sions." There  were  judges  and  their  wives,  Serjeants  and  their 
ladies,  Queen's  counsel  learned  in  the  law,  the  Northern  circuit 
and  the  Western  circuit :  there  were  officers  of  half-pay  and 
full-pay,  military  officers,  naval  officers,  and  sheriffs'  officers. 
There  were  people  of  high  fashion  and  rank,  and  people  of  no 
rank  at  all ;  there  were  men  and  women  of  reputation,  and  of 
the  two  kinds  of  reputation ;  there  were  English  boys  playing 
cricket ;  English  pointers  putting  up  the  German  partridges, 
and  English  guns  knocking  them  down ;  there  were  women 
whose  husbands,  and  men  whose  wives  were  at  home  ;  there 
were  High  Church  and  Low  Church — England  turned  out  for  a 
holiday,  in  a  word.  How  much  farther  shall  we  extend  our 
holiday  ground,  and  where  shall  we  camp  next  ?  A  winter  at 
Cairo  is  nothing  now.  Perhaps  ere  long  we  shall  be  going  to 
Saratoga  Springs,  and  the  Americans  coming  to  Margate  for 
the  summer. 

Apartments  befitting  her  dignity  and  the  number  of  her 
family  had  been  secured  for  Lady  Kicklebury  by  her  dutiful 
son,  in  the  same  house  in  which  one  of  Lankin's  friends  had 
secured  for  us  much  humbler  lodgings.  Kicklebury  received 
his  mother's  advent  with  a  great  deal  of  good-humor ;  and  a 
wonderful  figure  the  good-natured  little  baroret  was  when  he 
presented  himself  to  his  astonished  friends,  scarcely  recog- 
nizable by  his  own  parent  and  sisters,  and  the  staring  retainers 
of  their  house. 

"  Mercy,  Kicklebury  !  have  j-ou  become  a  red  republican  ?" 
his  mother  asked. 

"  I  can't  find  a  place  to  kiss  you,"  said  Miss  Fanny,  laugh- 
ing to  her  brother  ;  and  he  gave  her  pretty  cheek  such  a  scrub 
with  his  red  beard,  as  made  some  folks  think  it  would  be  very 
pleasant  to  be  Miss  Fanny's  brother. 

In  the  course  of  his  travels,  one  of  Sir  Thomas  Kicklebury's 
chief  amusements  and  cares  had  been  to  cultivate  this  bushy 
auburn  ornament.  He  said  that  no  man  could  pronounce 
German  properly  without  a  beard  to  his  jaws  ;  but  he  did  not 
appear  to  nave  got  much  beyond  this  preliminary  step  to  learn- 
ing ;  and,  in  spite  of  his  beard,  his  honest  English  accent  came 
out,  as  his  jolly  English  face  looked  forth  from  behind  that 
fierce  and  bristly  decoration,  perfectly  good-humored  and  un- 
mistakable. We  try  our  best  to  look  like  foreigners,  but  we 
can't.  Every  Italian  mendicant  or  Pont  Neuf  beggar  knows 
his  Englishman  in  spite  of  blouse,  and  beard,  and  slouched  hat. 
"There  is  a  peculiar  high-bred  grace  about  us,"  I  whisper  to 


A  SPECIMEN  OF  A  BRITON. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  OA'  THE  RHINE. 


I4t 


Lady  Kicklebury,  "  an  aristocratic  je  ne  sais  quoi,  which  is 
not  to  be  found  in  any  but  Englishmen  ;  and  it  is  that  which 
makes  us  so  immensely  liked  and  admired  all  over  the  Conti- 
nent." Well,  this  may  be  truth  or  joke — this  may  be  a  sneer 
or  a  simple  assertion  :  our  vulgarities  and  our  insolences  may, 
perhaps,  make  us  as  remarkable  as  that  high  breeding  which 
we  assume  to  possess.  It  may  be  that  the  Continental  society 
ridicules  and  detests  us,  as  we  walk  domineering  over  Europe  \ 
but,  after  all,  which  of  us  would  denationalize  himself  ?  who 
wouldn't  be  an  Englishman  ?  Come,  sir,  cosmopolite  as  you 
are,  passing  all  your  winters  at  Rome  or  at  Paris  ;  exiled  by 
choice  or  poverty,  from  your  own  country  ;  preferring  easier 
manners,  cheaper  pleasures,  a  simpler  life  :  are  you  not  still 
proud  of  your  British  citizenship  ?  and  would  you  like  to  be  a 
Frenchman  ? 

Kicklebury  has  a  great  acquaintance  at  Noirbourg,  and  as 
he  walks  into  the  great  concert-room  at  night,  introducing  his 
mother  and  sisters  there,  he  seemed  to  look  about  with  a  little 
anxiety,  lest  all  of  his  acquaintance  should  recognize  him. 
There  are  some  in  that  most  strange  and  motley  company  with 
whom  he  had  rather  not  exchange  salutations,  under  present 
circumstances.  Pleasure-seekers  from  every  nation  in  the  world 
are  here,  sharpers  of  both  sexes,  wearers  of  the  stars  and 
cordons  of  t  very  court  in  Europe  :  Russian  princesses,  Spanish 
grandees,  Belgian,  French,  and  English  nobles,  every  degree  of 
Briton,  from  the  ambassador,  who  has  his  conge,  to  the  London 
apprentice  who  has  come  out  for  his  fortnight's  lark.  Kickle- 
bury knows  them  all,  and  has  a  good-natured  nod  for  each. 

"  Who  is  that  lady  with   the  three  daughters  who   saluted 
you,  Kicklebur}'  ?  "  asks  his  mother. 

"  That  is  our  Ambassadress  at  X.,  ma'am.  I  saw  her  yes- 
terday buying  a  penny  toy  for  one  of  her  little  children  in 
Frankfort  Fair. 

Lady  Kicklebury  looks  towards  Lady  X.  ;  she  makes  her 
excellency  an  undeveloped  curtsey,  as  it  were  ;  she  weaves  her 
plumed  head  (Lady  K.  is  got  up  in  great  style,  in  a  rich  dejciiner 
toilette,  perfectly  regardless  of  expense)  ;  she  salutes  the  am- 
bassadress with  a  sweeping  gesture  from  her  chair,  and  backs 
before  her  as  before  royalty,  and  turns  to  her  daughters  large 
eyes  full  of  meaning,  and  spreads  out  her  silks  in  state. 

And  who  is  that  distinguished-looking  man  who  just  passed, 
and  who  gave  you  a  reserved  nod  ?  "  asks  her  ladyship.  "  Is 
that  Lord  X.  ?  " 

Kicklebury    burst    out   laughing.       "  That,    ma'am,    is    Mr. 

lO* 


142  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 

Higmore,  of  Conduit  Street,  tailor,  draper,  and  habit-maker: 
and  I  owe  him  a  hundred  pound."' 

"  The  insolence  of  that  sort  of  people  is  really  intolerable," 
says  Lady  Kicklebury.  "  There  must  be  some  distinction  of 
classes.  They  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  go  everywhere.  And 
who  is  yonder,  that  lady  with  the  two  boys  and  the — the  very 
high  complexion .''  "  Lady  Kicklebury  asks. 

"  That  is  a  Russian  Princess  :  and  one  of  those  little  boys, 
the  one  who  is  sucking  a  piece  of  barley-sugar,  plays,  and  wins 
five  hundred  louis  in  a  night." 

"  Kicklebur}',  you  do  not  play  ?  Promise  your  mother  you 
do  not !  Swear  to  me  at  this  moment  you  do  not !  Where  are 
the  horrid  gambling-rooms  }  There,  at  that  door  where  the 
crowd  is  ?     Of  course,  I  shall  never  enter  them  !  " 

"  Of  course  not,  ma'am,"  says  the  affectionate  son  on  duty. 
"  And  if  you  come  to  the  balls  here,  please  don't  let  Fanny 
dance  with  anybody,  until  you  ask  me  first  :  3'ou  understand  ? 
.Fanny,  you  will  take  care." 

"  Yes,  Tom,"  says  Fanny. 

"  What,  Hicks,  how  are  you,  old  fellow  ?  How  is  Platts  .-' 
Who  would  have  thought  of  you  being  here  ?  When  did  you 
come  }  " 

"  I  had  the  pleasure  of  travelling  with  Lady  Kicklebury  and 
her  daughters  in  the  London  boat  to  Antwerp,  says  Captain 
Hicks,  making  the  ladies  a  bow.  Kicklebury  introduces  Hicks 
to  his  mother  as  his  most  particular  friend — and  he  whispers 
Fanny  that  "  he's  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  lived.  Hicks  is." 
Fanny  says,  "  He  seems  very  kind  and  good-natured  :  and^ — 
and  Captain  Hicks  waltzes  very  well,"  saj^s  Miss  Fanny  with  a 
blush,  "  and  I  hojDC  I  may  have  him  for  one  of  my  partners." 

What  a  Babel  of  tongues  it  is  in  this  sj^lendid  hall  with 
gleaming  marble  pillars  :  a  ceaseless  rushing  whisper  as  if  the 
band  were  playing  its  music  by  a  waterfall  !  The  British 
lawyers  are  all  got  together,  and  my  friend  Lankin,  on  his 
arrival,  has  been  carried  off  by  his  brother  serjeants,  and 
becomes  once  more  a  lawyer.  "  Well,  brother  Lankin,"  says 
old  Sir  Thomas  Minos,  with  his  venerable  kind  face,  ''  you 
have  got  your  rule,  I  see."  And  they  fall  into  talk  about  their 
law  matters,  as  they  always  do,  wherever  they  are — at  a  club, 
in  a  ball-room,  at  a  dinner-table,  at  the  top  of  Chimborazo. 
Some  of  the  young  barristers  appear  as  bucks  with  uncommon 
splendor,  and  dance  and  hang  about  the  ladies.  But  they 
have  not  the  easy  languid  deuce-may-care  air  of  the  young 
bucks  of  the  Hicks  and  Kicklebury  school — they  can't  put  on 


THE  INTKRIOR  OF  HADES. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  OAr  THE  RHINE. 


143 


their  clothes  with  that  happy  negUgence  ;  their  neck-cloths  sit 
quite  differently  on  them,  somehow  :  they  become  very  hot 
when  they  dance,  and  yet  do  not  spin  round  near  so  quickly 
as  those  London  youths,  who  have  acquired  experience  in 
corpore  vili,  and  learned  to  dance  easily  by  the  practice  of  a 
thousand  casinos. 

Above  the  Babel  tongues  and  the  clang  of  the  music,  as 
you  listen  in  the  great  saloon,  you  hear  from  a  neighboring 
room  a  certain  sharp  ringing  clatter,  and  a  hard  clear  voice 
cries  out,  "  Zero  rouge,"  or  "  Trente-cinq  noir.  Impair  et 
passe."  And  then  there  is  a  pause  of  a  couple  of  minutes,  and 
then  the  voice  says,  "  Faites  le  jeu,  Messieurs.  Le  jeu  est 
fait,  rien  ne  va  plus  " — and  the  sharp  ringing  clatter  recom- 
mences. You  know  what  that  room  is  ?  That  is  Hades. 
That  is  where  the  spirited  proprietor  of  the  establishment  takes 
his  toll,  and  thither  the  people  go  who  pay  the  money  which 
supports  the  spirited  proprietor  of  this  fine  palace  and  gardens. 
Let  us  enter  Hades,  and  see  w^hat  is  going  on  there. 

Hades  is  not  an  unpleasant  place.  Most  of  the  people 
look  rather  cheerful.  You  don't  see  any  frantic  gamblers 
gnashing  their  teeth  or  dashing  down  their  last  stakes.  The 
winners  have  the  most  anxious  faces  ;  or  the  poor  shabby 
fellows  who  have  got  systems,  and  are  pricking  down  the  alter- 
nations of  red  and  black  on  cards,  and  don't  seem  to  be  play- 
ing at  all.  Owfefe  days  the  country  people  come  in,  men  and 
women,  to  gamble  ;  and  they  seem  to  be  excited  as  they  put 
down  their  hard-earned  florins  with  trembling  rough  hands, 
and  watch  the  turn  of  the  wheel.  But  what  you  call  the  good 
company  is  very  quiet  and  easy.  A  man  loses  his  mass  of 
gold,  and  gets  up  and  walks  off,  without  any  particular  mark 
of  despair.  The  only  gentleman  whom  I  saw  at  Noirbourg 
who  seemed  really  afl'ected  was  a  certain  Count  de  Mustacheff, 
a  Russian  of  enormous  wealth,  who  clenched  his  fists,  beat  his 
breast,  cursed  his  stars,  and  absolutely  cried  with  grief :  not 
for  losing  money,  but  for  neglecting  to  win  and  play  upon  a 
co7ip  de  viiigt,  a  series  in  which  the  red  was  turned  up  twenty 
times  running  :  which  series,  had  he  but  played,  it  is  clear  that 
he  might  have  broken  M.  Lenoir's  bank,  and  shut  up  the 
gambling-house,  and  doubled  his  own  fortune — when  he  would 
have  heen  no  iuappicf,  and  all  the  balls  and  music,  all  the 
newspaper-rooms  and  parks,  all  the  feastmg  and  pleasure  of 
this  delightful  Rougetnoirbourg  would  have  been  at  an  end. 

For  though  he  is  a  wicked  gambling  prince,  Lenoir,  he  is 
beloved  in  all  these  regions  j  his  establishment  gives  life  to  the 


144  '^^^  KJCKLEBURYS  QiV  THE  RHINE. 

town,  to  the  lodging-house  and  hotel-keepers,  to  the  milliners 
and  hackney-coachmen,  to  the  letters  of  horse-flesh,  to  the 
huntsmen  and  gardes-de-chasse  ;  to  all  these  honest  fiddlers 
and  trumpeters  who  play  so  delectably.  Were  Lenoir's  bank 
to  break,  the  whole  little  city  would  shut  up  ;  and  all  the 
Noirbourgers  wish  him  prosperity,  and  benefit  by  his  good 
fortune. 

Three  years  since  the  Noirbourgers  underwent  a  mighty 
panic.  There  came,  at  a  time  when  the  chief  Lenoir  was  at 
Paris,  and  the  reins  of  government  were  in  the  hands  of  his 
younger  brother,  a  company  of  adventurer^  from  Belgium,  vdth 
a  capital  of  three  hundred  thousands  francs,  and  an  infallible 
system  for  playing  rouge  et  ?ioir,  and  they  boldly  challenged  the 
bank  of  Lenoir,  and  sat  down  before  his  croupiers,  and  defied 
him.  They  called  themselves  in  their  pride  the  Contrebanque 
de  Noirbourg  :  they  had  their  croupiers  and  punters,  even  as 
Lenoir  had  his :  they  had  their  rouleaux  of  Napoleons,  stamped 
with  their  Contrebanquish  seal ; — and  they  began  to  play. 

As  when  two  mighty  giants  step  out  of  a  host  and  engage, 
the  armies  stand  still  in  expectation,  and  the  puny  privates 
and  commonalty  remain  quiet  to  witness  the  combat  of  the 
tremendous  champions  of  the  war  :  so  it  is  said  that  when  the 
Contrebanque  arrived,  and  ranged  itself  before  the  officers  of 
Lenoir — rouleau  to  rouleau,  bank-note  to  bank-note,  war  for 
war,  controlment  for  controlment — all  the  minor  punters  and 
gamblers  ceased  their  peddling  play,  and  looked  on  in  silence, 
round  the  verdant  plain  where  the  great  combat  was  to  be 
decided. 

Not  used  to  the  vast  operations  of  war,  like  his  elder  brother, 
Lenoir  junior,  the  lieutenant,  telegraphed  to  his  absent  chief 
the  news  of  the  mighty  enemy  who  had  come  down  upon  him, 
asked  for  instructions,  and  in  the  meanwhile  met  the  foeman 
like  a  man.  The  Contrebanque  of  Noirbourg  gallantly  opened 
its  campaign. 

The  Lenoir  bank  was  defeated  day  after  da}-,  in  numerous 
savage  encounters.  The  tactics  of  the  Contrebanquist  generals 
were  irresistible  :  their  infernal  system  bore  down  everythino- 
before  it,  and  they  marched  onwards  terrible  and  victorious  as 
the  IVLicedonian  phalanx.  Tuesday,  a  loss  of  eighteen  thou- 
sand florins;  Wednesday,  a  loss  of  twelve  thousand  floi  ins  ! 
Thursday,  a  loss  of  forty  thousand  florins :  night  after 
night,  the  young  Lenior  had  to  chronicle  these  disasters 
in  melancholy  despatches  to  his  chief.  What  was  to  be 
done  ?     Night  after  night,  the  Noirbourgers  retired  home  doubt- 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 


1 45 


fill  and  disconsolate  ;  the  horrid  Contrebanquists  gathered  up 
their  spoils  and  retired  to  a  victorious  supper.  How  was  it 
to  end  ? 

Far  away  at  ir'aris,  the  elder  Lenoir  answered  these  appeals 
of  his  brother  by  sending  reinforcements  of  money.  Chests  of 
gold  arrived  for  the  bank.  The  Prince  of  Noirbourg  bade  his 
beleaguered  lieutenant  not  to  lose  heart :  he  himself  never  foi 
a  moment  blenched  in  this  trying  hour  of  danger. 

The  Contrebanquists  still  went  on  victorious.  Rouleau 
after  rouleau  fell  into  their  possession.  At  last  the  news  came  : 
The  Emperor  has  joined  the  Grand  Army.  Lenoir  himself  had 
arrived  from  Paris,  and  was  once  more  among  his  children,  his 
people.  The  daily  combats  continued  :  and  still,  still,  though 
Napoleon  was  with  the  Eagles,  the  abominable  Contrebanquists 
fought  and  conquered.  And  far  greater  than  Napoleon,  as  great 
as  Ney  himself  under  disaster,  the  bold  Lenoir  never  lost  cour- 
age, never  lost  good-humor,  was  affable,  was  gentle,  was  care- 
ful of  his  subjects'  pleasures  and  comforts,  and  met  an  adverse 
fortune  with  a  dauntless  smile. 

With  a  devilish  forbearance  and  coolness,  the  atrocious, 
Contrebanque  —  like  Polyphemus,  who  only  took  one  of  his 
prisoners  out  of  the  cave  at  a  time,  and  so  ate  them  off  at 
leisure — the  horrid  Contrebanquists,  I  say,  contented  them- 
selves with  winning  so  much  before  dinner,  and  so  much  be- 
fore supper — say  five  thousand  florins  for  each  meal.  They 
played  and  won  at  noon  :  they  played  and  won  at  eventide. 
They  of  Noirbourg  went  home  sadly  every  night :  the  invader 
was  carrying  all  before  him.  What  must  have  been  the  feelings 
of  the  great  Lenoir  ?  What  were  those  of  Washington  before 
Trenton,  when  it  seemed  all  up  with  the  cause  of  American 
Independence  ;  what  those  of  the  virgin  Elizabeth,  when  the 
Armada  was  signalled  ;  what  those  of  Miltiades,  when  the 
multitudinous  Persian  bore  down  on  Marathon  ?  The  people 
looked  on  at  the  combat,  and  saw  their  chieftain  stricken, 
bleeding,  fallen,  fighting  still. 

At  last  there  came  one  day  when  the  Contrebanquists  had 
won  their  allotted  sum,  and  were  about  to  leave  the  tables 
which  they  had  swept  so  often.  But  pride  and  lust  of  gold  had 
seized  upon  the  heart  of  one  of  their  vainglorious  chieftains  ; 
and  he  said,  "  Do  not  let  us  go  yet — let  us  win  a  thousand 
florins  more  !  "  So  they  stayed  and  set  the  bank  yet  a  thou- 
sand florins.  The  Noirbourgers  looked  on,  and  trembled  for 
their  prince. 

Some  three  hours  afterwards — a  shout,  a  mighty  shout  was 


3t^6  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON-  THE  RHINE. 

heard  around  the  windows  of  that  palace  :  the  town,  the  gar 
dens,  the  hills,  the  fountains  took  up  and  echoed  the  jubilant 
acclaim.  Hip,  hip,  hip,  hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah !  People 
rushed  into  each  others'  arms  ;  men,  women,  and  children  crie<^ 
and  kissed  each  other.  Croupiers,  who  never  feel,  who  never 
tremble,  who  never  care  whether  black  wins  or  red  loses,  took 
snuff  from  each  others'  boxes,  and  laughed  for  joy  ;  and  Lenoir 
the  dauntless,  the  invincible  Lenoir,  wiped  the  drops  of  per- 
spiration from  his  calm  forehead,  as  he  drew  the  enemy's  last 
rouleau  into  his  till.  He  had  conquered.  The  Persians  were 
beaten,  horse  and  foot — the  Armada  had  gone  down.  Since 
Wellington  shut  up  his  telescope  at  Waterloo,  when  the  Prus- 
sians came  charging  on  to  the  field,  and  the  Guard  broke  and 
fled,  there  had  been  no  such  heroic  endurance,  such  utter  de- 
feat, such  signal  and  crowning  victory.  Vive  Lenoir  !  I  am  a 
Lenoirite.  I  have  read  his  newspapers,  strolled  in  his  gardens, 
listened  to  his  music,  and  rejoice  in  his  victory  :  I  am  glad  he 
beat  those  Contrebanquists.  Dissipati  sunt.  The  game  is  up 
with  them. 

The  instances  of  this  man's  magnanimity  are  numerous, 
and  worthy  of  Alexander  the  Great,  or  Harry  the  Fifth,  or 
Robin  Hood.  Most  gentle  is  he,  and  thoughtful  to  the  poor, 
and  merciful  to  the  vanquished.  When  Jeremy  Diddler,  who 
had  lost  twenty  pounds  at  his  table,  lay  in  inglorious  pawn  at 
his  inn — when  O'Toole  could  not  leave  Noirbourg  until  he  had 
received  his  remittances  from  Ireland — the  noble  Lenoir  paid 
Diddler's  inn  bill,  advanced  O'Toole  money  upon  his  well- 
known  signature,  franked  both  of  them  back  to  their  native 
country  again  ;  and  has  never,' wonderful  to  state,  been  paid 
from  that  day  to  this.  If  you  will  go  play  at  his  table,  you  may  ; 
but  nobody  forces  you.  If  you  lose,  pay  with  a  cheerful  heart. 
Duke  est  desipere  in  loco.  This  is  not  a  treatise  of  morals. 
P>iar  Tuck  was  not  an  exemplary  ecclesiastic,  nor  Robin  Hood 
a  model  man  ;  but  he  was  a  jolly  outlaw ;  and  I  dare  say  the 
Sheriff  of  Nottingham,  whose  money  he  took,  rather  relished 
his  feast  at  Robin's  green  table. 

And  if  you  lose,  worthy  friend,  as  possibly  you  will,  at  Le- 
noir's pretty  games,  console  yourself  by  thinking  that  it  is 
much  better  for  you  in  the  end  that  you  should  lose,  than  that 
you  should  win.  Let  me,  for  my  part,  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it,  and  own  that  your  humble  servant  did,  on  one  occasion,  win 
a  score  of  Napoleons  ;  and  beginning  with  a  sum  of  no  less 
than  five  shillings.     But  until  I  had  lost  them  a^rain  I  was  s« 


/ 


.1-^ 


>>-  ■<  '^  U-'  i\i 

\ 


fO)' 


THE  WATER  CURE. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  OX  THE  RHINE. 


14: 


/everish,  excited,  and  uneasy,  that  I  had  neither  delectation  in 
reading  the  most  exciting  French  novels,  nor  pleasure  in  seeing 
pretty  landscapes,  nor  appetite  for  dinner.  The  moment,  how- 
ever, that  graceless  money  was  gone,  equanimity  was  restored  : 
Paul  Feval  and  P^ugene  Sue  began  to  be  terrifically  interesting 
again  ;  and  the  dinners  at  Noirbourg,  though  by  no  means  good 
culinary  specimens,  were  perfectly  sufficient  for  my  easy  and 
tranquil  mind.  Lankin,  who  played  only  a  lawyer's  rubber  at 
whist,  marked  the  salutary  change  in  his  friend's  condition  ; 
and,  for  my  part,  I  hope  and  pray  that  every  honest  reader  of 
this  volume  who  plays  at  M.  Lenoir's  table  will  lose  every  shil- 
ling of  his  winnings  before  he  goes  away.  Where  are  the  gam- 
blers whom  we  have  read  of  ?  Where  are  the  card-players 
whom  we  can  remember  in  our  early  days  ?  At  one  time  al- 
most every  gentleman  played,  and  there  were  whist-tables  in 
every  lady's  drawing-room.  But  trumps  are  going  out  along 
with  numbers  of  old-world  institutions  ;  and,  before  very  long, 
a  black-leg  will  be  as  rare  an  animal  as  a  knight  in  armor. 

There  was  a  little  dwarfish,  abortive,  counter-bank  set  up 
at  Noirbourg  this  year :  but  the  gentlemen  soon  disagreed 
among  themselves  ;  and,  let  us  hope,  were  cut  off  in  detail  by 
the  great  Lenoir.  And  there  was  a  Frenchman  at  our  inn  who 
had  won  two  Napoleons  per  day  for  the  last  six  weeks,  and  who 
had  an  infallible  system,  whereof  he  kindly  offered  to  communi- 
cate the  secret  for  the  consideration  of  a  hundred  Louis ;  but 
there  came  one  fatal  night  when  the  poor  Frenchman's  system 
could  not  make  head  against  fortune,  and  her  wheej  went  over 
him,  and  he  disappeared  utterly. 

With  the  early  morning  everybody  rises  and  makes  his  or 
her  appearance  at  the  Springs,  where  they  partake  of  water  with 
a  wonderful  energy  and  perseverance.  They  say  that  people 
get  to  be  fond  of  this  water  at  last ;  as  to  what  tastes  cannot 
men  accustom  themselves  ?  I  drank  a  couple  of  glasses  of  an 
abominable  sort  of  feeble  salts  in  a  state  of  very  gentle  effer- 
vescence ;  but,  though  there  was  a  very  pretty  girl  who  served 
it,  the  drink  was  abominable,  and  it  was  a  marvel  to  see  the 
various  topers,  who  tossed  off  glass  after  glass,  which  the  fair- 
haired  little  Hebe  delivered  sparkling  from  the  well. 

Seeing  my  wry  faces,  old  Captain  Carver  expostulated,  with 
a  jolly  twinkle  of  his  eye,  as  he  absorbed  the  contents  of  a 
sparkling  crystal  beaker.  "  Pooh !  take  another  glass,  sir  : 
you'll  like  it  better  and  better  every  day.  It  refreshes  you,  sir  : 
it  fortifies  you  :  and  as  for  liking  it — gad  !  1  remember  the  time 


148  THE  KICKLEBURYS  OX  THE  RHIXE. 

when  I  didn't  like  claret.  Times  are  altered  now,  ha  !  ha  1 
Mrs.  Fantail,  madam,  I  wish  you  a  very  good-morning.  Hov* 
is  Fantail  ?  He  don't  come  to  drink  the  water  :  so  much  the 
worse  for  him." 

To  see  Mrs.  Fantail  of  an  evening  is  to  behold  a  magnificent 
sight.  She  ought  to  be  shown  in  a  room  by  herself ;  and,  in- 
deed, would  occupy  a  moderate -sized  one  with  her  person  and 
adornments.  Marie  Antoinette's  hoop  is  not  bigger  than  Mrs. 
Fantail's  flounces.  Twenty  men  taking  hands  (and,  indeed,  she 
likes  to  have  at  least  that  number  about  her)  would  scarcely 
encompass  her.  Her  chestnut  ringlets  spread  out  in  a  halo 
round  her  face  :  she  must  want  two  or  three  coiffeurs  to  arrange 
that  prodigious  head-dress ;  and  then,  when  it  is  done,  how  car 
she  endure  that  extraordinary  gown  ?  Her  travelling  band 
boxes  must  be  as  large  as  omnibuses. 

But  see  Mrs.  Fantail  in  the  morning,  having  taken  in  all 
sail :  the  chestnut  curls  have  disappeared,  and  two  limp  bands 
of  brown  hair  border  her  lean,  sallow  face  ;  you  see  before  you 
an  ascetic,  a  nun,  a  woman  worn  by  mortifications,  of  a  sad 
yellow  aspect,  drinking  salts  at  the  well  :  a  vision  quite  different 
from  that  rapturous  one  of  the  previous  night's  ball-room.  No 
wonder  Fantail  does  not  come  out  of  a  morning  ;  he  had  rather 
not  see  such  a  P.ebecca  at  the  well. 

Lady  Kicklcbury  came  for  some  mornings  pretty  regularl}-, 
and  was  very  civil  to  Mr.  Leader,  and  made  Miss  Fanny  drink 
when  his  lordship  took  a  cup,  and  asked  Lord  Talboys  and  his 
tutor  to  dinner.  But  the  tutor  came,  and,  blushing,  brought  an 
excuse  from  Talboys  ;  and  poor  Milliken  had  not  a  very  pleas- 
ant evening  after  Mr.  Baring  Leader  rose  to  go  away. 

But  though  the  water  was  not  good  the  sun  was  bright,  the 
music  cheery,  the  landscape  fresh  and  pleasant,  and  it  was  al- 
ways amusing  to  see  the  vast  varieties  of  our  human  species 
that  congregated  at  the  Springs,  and  trudged  up  and  down  the 
green  alle'es.  One  of  the  gambling  conspirators  of  the  roulette 
table  it  was  good  to  see  here,  in  his  private  character,  drinking 
down  pints  of  salts  like  any  other  sinner,  havmg  a  homely  wife 
on  his  arm,  and  between  them  a  poodle  on  which  they  lavished 
their  tenderest  affection.  You  see  these  people  care  for  other 
things  besides  trumps  ;  and  are  not  always  thinking  about  black 
and  red  : — as  even  ogres  are  represented,  in  their  histories,  as 
of  cruel  natures,  and  licentious  appetites,  and,  to  be  sure,  fond 
of  eating  men  and  women  ;  but  yet  it  appears  that  their  wives 
often  respected  them,  and  they  had  a  sincere  liking  for  their 
own   hideous  children.     And,   besides   the  card-players,  there 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE.  149 

are  band-players :  every  now  and  then  a  fiddle  from  the  neigh- 
boring orchestra,  or  a  disorganized  bassoon,  will  step  down  and 
drink  a  glass  of  the  water,  and  jump  back  into  his  rank  again. 

Then  come  the  burly  troops  of  English,  the  honest  lawyers, 
merchants,  and  gentlemen,  with  their  wives  and  buxom  daugh- 
ters, and  stout  sons,  that,  almost  grown  to  the  height  of  man- 
hood, are  boys  still,  with  rough  wide-awake  hats  and  shooting- 
jackets,  full  of  lark  and  laughter.  A  French  boy  of  sixteen  has 
had  des  passions  ere  that  time,  very  likely,  and  is  already  par- 
ticular in  his  dress,  an  ogler  of  the  women,  and  preparing  to 
kill.  Adolphe  says  to  Alphonse — "  La  voila  cette  charmante 
Miss  Fanni,  la  belle  Kickleburi  !  je  te  donne  ma  parole,  elle 
est  fraiche  comme  une  rose  !  la  crois-tu  riche,  Alphonse  ?  "  "  Je 
me  range,  mon  ami,  vois-tu  ?  La  vie  de  gargon  me  pese.  Ma 
parole  d'honneur  !  je  me  range." 

And  he  gives  Miss  Fanny  a  killing  bow,  and  a  glance  which 
seems  to  say,  "  Sweet  Anglaise,  I  know  that  I  have  won  your 
heart." 

Then  besides  the  young  French  buck,  whom  we  will  willingly 
suppose  harmless,  you  see  specimens  of  the  French  raff,  who 
goes  aiix  eaiix :  gambler,  speculator,  sentimentalist,  duellist, 
travelling  with  madame  his  wife,  at  whom  other  raffs  nod  and 
wink  familiarly.  This  rogue  is  much  more  picturesque  and 
civilized  than  the  similar  person  in  our  own  country  :  whose 
manners  betray  the  stable  ;  who  never  reads  anything  but 
BelVs  Life ;  and  who  is  much  more  at  ease  in  conversing  with 
a  groom  than  with  his  employer.  Here  come  Mr.  Boucher  and 
Mr.  Fowler  :  better  to  gamble  for  a  score  of  nights  with  honest 
Monsieur  Lenoir,  than  to  sit  down  in  private  once  with  those 
gentlemen.  But  we  have  said  that  their  profession  is  going 
down,  and  the  number  of  Greeks  daily  diminishes.  They  are 
travelling  with  Mr.  Bloundell,  who  was  a  gentleman  once,  and 
still  retains  about  him  some  faint  odor  of  that  time  of  bloom  ; 
and  Bloundell  has  put  himself  on  young  Lord  Talboys,  and  is 
trying  to  get  some  money  out  of  that  young  nobleman.  But  the 
English  youth  of  the  present  day  is  a  wide-awake  youth,  and 
male  or  female  artifices  are  expended  pretty  much  in  vain  on 
our  young  travelling  companion. 

Who  come  yonder  ?  Those  two  fellows  whom  we  met  at 
the  table-d'hote  at  the  "  Hotel  de  Russie  "  the  other  day : 
gentlemen  of  splendid  costume,  and  ye-t  questionable  appear- 
ances, the  eldest  of  whom  called  for  the  list  of  wines,  and  cried 
out  loud  enough  for  all  the  company  to  hear,  "  Lafite,  six  florins, 
'Arry,  shall  we  have  some  Lafite  ?     You  don't  mind  .''     No  more 


150  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 

do  I  then.  I  say,  waiter,  let's  'ave  a  pint  of  ordinaire."  Truth 
is  stranger  than  fiction.  You  good  fellow,  wherever  you  are, 
why  did  you  ask  'Arry  to  'ave  that  pint  of  ordinaire  in  the 
presence  of  your  obedient  servant .''  How  could  he  do  other- 
wise than  chronicle  the  speech  ? 

And  see  :  here  is  a  lady  who  is  doubly  desirous  to  be  put 
into  print,  who  encourages  it  and  invites  it.  It  appears  that  on 
Lankin's  first  arrival  at  Noirbourg  with  his  travelling  com- 
panion, a  certain  sensation  was  created  in  the  little  society  by 
the  rumor  that  an  emissary  of  the  famous  Mr.  Punch  had 
arrived  in  the  place  ;  and,  as  we  were  smoking  the  cigar  of 
peace  on  the  lawn  after  dinner,  looking  on  at  the  benevolent, 
pretty  scene,  Mrs.  Hopkins,  Miss  Hopkins,  and  the  excellent 
head  of  the  family,  walked  many  times  up  and  down  before  us  \ 
eyed  us  severely  face  to  face,  and  then  walking  away,  shot  back 
fierce  glances  at  us  in  the  Parthian  manner  ;  and  at  length,  at 
the  third  or  fourth  turn,  and  when  we  could  not  but  overhear  so 
fine  a  voice,  Mrs.  Hopkins  looks  at  us  steadily,  and  says,  "  I'm 
sure  he  may  put  me  in  if  he  likes:  I  don't  mind.'' 

Oh,  ma'am  !  Oh,  Mrs.  Hopkins  !  how  should  a  gentleman, 
who  had  never  seen  your  !ace  or  heard  of  you  before,  want  to 
put  you  in  ?  What  interest  can  the  British  public  have  in  you  .-" 
But  as  you  wish  it,  and  court  publicity,  here  you  are.  Good 
luck  go  with  you,  madam.  I  have  forgotten  your  real  name, 
and  should  not  know  you  again  if  I  saw  you.  But  why  could 
not  you  leave  a  man  to  take  his  coffee  and  smoke  his  pipe  in 
quiet  ? 

We  could  never  have  time  to  make  a  catalogue  of  all  the 
portraits  that  figure  in  this  motley  gallery.  Among  the  travel- 
lers in  Europe,  who  are  daily  multiplying  in  numbers  and  in- 
creasing in  splendor,  the  United  States'  dandies  must  not  be 
omitted.  They  seem  as  rich  as  the  Milor  of  old  days  ;  they 
crowd  in  E^uropean  capitals  ;  they  have  elbowed  out  people  of 
the  old  country  from  many  hotels  which  we  used  to  frequent  ; 
tJiey  adopt  the  French  fashion  of  dressing  rather  than  ours, 
and  they  grow  handsomer  beards  than  English  beards  :  as 
some  plants  are  found  to  flourish  and  shoot  up  prodigiously 
when  introduced  into  a  new  soil.  The  ladies  seem  to  be  as 
well-dressed  as  Parisians,  and  as  handsome  ;  though  somewhat 
more  delicate,  perhaps,  than  the  native  English  roses.  They 
drive  the  finest  carriages,  they  keep  the  grandest  houses,  they 
frequent  the  grandest  company — and,  in  a  word,  the  Broadway 
Swell  has  now  taken  his  station  and  asserted  his  dignity 
amongst  the  grandees  of  Europe.     He  is  fond  of  asking  Count 


THE  GERMAN  PEASANT  MAIDEN. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 


151 


Reineck  to  dinner,  and  Grafinn  Laura  will  condescend  to  look 
kindly  upon  a  gentleman  who  has  millions  of  dollars.  Here 
comes  a  pair  of  New  Yorkers.  Behold  their  elegant  curling 
beards,  their  velvet  coats,  their  delicate  primrose  gloves  and 
cambric  handkerchiefs,  and  the  aristocratic  beauty  of  their 
boots.  Why,  if  you  had  sixteen  quarterings,  you  could  not 
have  smaller  feet  than  those  ;  and  if  you  were  descended  from 
a  line  of  kings  you  could  not  smoke  better  or  bigger  cigars. 

Lady  Kicklebury  deigns  to  think  \  ery  well  of  these  young 
men,  since  she  has  seen  them  in  the  company  of  grandees  and 
heard  how  rich  they  are.  "  Who  is  that  very  stylish-looking 
woman,  to  whom  Mr.  Washington  Walker  spoke  just  now  ?  " 
she  asks  of  Kicklebury. 

Kicklebury  gives  a  twinkle  of  his  eye.  "  Oh,  that,  mother ! 
that  is  Madame  La  Princesse  de  Mogador — it's  a  French  title." 

"  She  danced  last  night,  and  danced  exceedingly  well ;  I  re- 
marked her.  There's  a  very  high-bred  grace  about  the  prin- 
cess." 

"Yes,  exceedingly.  We'd  better  come  on,"  says  Kickle- 
bury, blushing  rather,  as  he  returns  the  princess's  nod. 

It  is  wonderful  how  large  Kicklebury's  acquaintance  is. 
He  has  a  word  and  a  joke,  in  the  best  German  he  can  muster, 
for  everybody — for  the  high  well-born  lady,  as  for  the  German 
peasant  maiden,  who  stood  for  the  lovely  portrait  which  faces 
this  page  \  as  for  the  pretty  little  washerwoman,  who  comes  full 
sail  down  the  streets,  a  basket  on  her  head  and  one  of  Mr. 
Fantail's  wonderful  gowns  swelling  on  each  arm.  As  we  were 
going  to  the  Schloss-Garten  I  caught  a  sight  of  the  rogue's 
grinning  face  yesterday,  close  at  little  Gretel's  ear  under  her 
basket ;  but  spying  out  his  mother  advancing,  he  dashed  down 
a  bystreet,  and  when  we  came  up  with  her,  Gretel  was  alone. 

One  but  seldom  sees  the  English  and  the  holiday  visitors  in 
the  ancient  parts  of  Noirbourg ;  they  keep  to  the  streets  of  new 
buildings  and  garden  villas,  which  have  sprung  up  under  the 
magic  influence  of  M.  Lenoir,  under  the  white  towers  and  gables 
of  the  old  German  town.  The  Prince  of  Trente-et-Quarante 
has  quite  overcome  the  old  serene  sovereign  of  Noirbourg, 
whom  one  cannot  help  fancying  a  prince  like  a  prince  in  a 
Christmas  pantomime — a  burlesque  prince  with  twopence-half- 
penny for  a  revenue,  jolly  and  irascible,  a  prime-minister-kicking 
prince,  fed  upon  fabulous  plum-puddings  and  enormous  paste- 
board joints,  by  cooks  and  valets  with  large  heads  which  never 
alter  their  grin.  Not  that  this  portrait  is  from  the  life.  Per- 
haps he  has  no  life.     Perhaps  there  is  no  prince  in  that  great 


1^2  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 

white  tower,  that  we  see  for  miles  before  we  enter  the  little 
town.  Perhaps  he  has  been  mediatized,  and  sold  his  kingdom 
to  Monsieur  Lenoir.  Before  the  palace  of  Lenoir  there  is  a 
grove  of  orange-trees  in  tubs,  which  Lenoir  bought  from  an- 
other German  prince  ;  who  went  straightway  and  lost  the  money, 
which  he  had  been  paid  for  his  wonderful  orange-trees,  over 
Lenoir's  green  tables,  at  his  roulette  and  trente-etquarante. 
A  great  prince  is  Lenoir  in  his  way ;  a  generous  and  magnani- 
mous prince.  You  may  come  to  his  feast  and  pay  nothing, 
unless  you  please.  You  may  walk  in  his  gardens,  sit  in  his 
palace,  and  read  his  thousand  newspapers.  You  may  go  and 
play  whist  in  his  small  drawing-room,  or  dance  and  hear  con- 
certs in  his  grand  saloon — and  there  is  not  a  penny  to  pay — 
His  fiddlers  and  trumpeters  begin  trumpeting  and  fiddling  for 
you  at  the  early  dawn — they  twang  and  blow  for  you  in  the 
afternoon,  they  pipe  for  you  at  night  that  you  may  clance — and 
there  is  nothing  to  pay — Lenoir  pays  for  all.  Give  him  but  the 
chances  of  the  table,  and  he  will  do  all  this  and  more.  It 
is  better  to  live  under  Prince  Lenoir  than  a  fabulous  old  Ger- 
man Durchlaucht  whose  cavalry  ride  wicker  horses  with  pet- 
ticoats, and  whose  prime  minister  has  a  great  pasteboard  head. 
Vive  le  Prince  Lenoir  ! 

There  is  a  grotesque  old  carved  gate  to  the  palace  of  the 
Durchlaucht,  from  which  you  could  expect  none  but  a  panto 
mime  procession  to  pass.  The  place  looks  asleep  ;  the  courts 
are  grass-grown  and  deserted.  Is  the  Sleeping  Beauty  lying 
yonder,  in  the  great  white  tower  ?  What  is  the  little  army 
about  ?  It  seems  a  sham  army  :  a  sort  of  grotesque  military. 
The  only  charge  of  infantry  was  this  :  one  day  when  passing 
through  the  old  town,  looking  for  sketches.  Perhaps  they  be- 
come croupiers  at  night.  What  can  such  a  fabulous  prince 
want  with  anything  but  a  sham  army  ?  My  favorite  walk  was 
in  the  ancient  quarter  of  the  town — the  dear  old  fabulous  quar- 
ter, away  from  the  noisy  actualities  of  life  and  Prince  Lenoir's 
new  palace — out  of  eye  and  earshot  of  the  dandies  and  the 
ladies  in  their  grand  best  clothes  at  the  promenades — and  the 
rattling  whirl  of  the  roulette  wheel — and  1  liked  to  wander  in 
the  glum  old  gardens  under  the  palace  wall,  and  imagine  the 
Sleeping  Beauty  within  there. 

Some  one  persuaded  us  one  day  to  break  the  charm,  and 
see  the  interior  of  the  palace.  I  am  sorry  we  did.  There  was 
no  Sleeping  Beauty  in  any  chamber  that  we  saw  ;  nor  any  fairies, 
good  or  malevolent.  There  was  a  set  of  clean  old  rooms, 
which  looked  as  if  they  had  belonged  to  a  prince  hard  put  to  it 


CHARGE  OF  NOIRBOURG. 


THE  OLD  STORY. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 


153 


for  money,  and  whose  tin  crown  jewels  would  not  fetch  more 
than  King  Stephen's  pantaloons.  A  fugitive  prince,  a  brave 
prince  struggling  with  the  storms  of  fate,  a  prince  in  exile  may 
be  poor ;  but  a  prince  looking  out  of  his  own  palace  windows 
with  a  dressing-gown  out  at  elbows,  and  dunned  by  his  subject 
washerwoman — I  say  this  is  a  painful  object.  When  they  get 
shabby  they  ought  not  to  be  seen.  "  Don't  you  think  so,  Lady 
Kicklebury  ?  "  Lady  Kicklebury  evidently  had  calculated  the 
price  of  the  carpets  and  hangings,  and  set  them  justly  down  at 
a  low  figure.  "  These  German  princes,"  she  said,  "  are  not  to 
be  put  on  a  level  with  English  noblemen."  "  Indeed,"  we  an- 
swer, "  there  is  nothing  so  perfect  as  England  :  nothing  so  good 
as  our  aristocracy ;  nothing  so  perfect  as  our  institutions." 
"Nothing!  nothing!''''  says  Lady  K. 

An  English  princess  was  once  brought  to  reign  here  ;  and 
almost  the  whole  of  the  little  court  was  kept  upon  her  dowry. 
The  people  still  regard  her  name  fondly  ;  and  they  show,  at 
the  Schloss,  the  rooms  which  she  inhabited.  Her  old  books 
are  still  there — her  old  furniture  brought  from  home  ;  the  jores- 
ents  and  keepsakes  sent  by  her  family  are  as  they  were  in  the 
princess's  lifetime  :  the  very  clock  has  the  name  of  a  Windsor 
maker  on  its  face  ;  and  portraits  of  all  her  numerous  race  dec- 
orate the  homely  walls  of  the  now  empty  chambers.  There  is 
the  benighted  old  king,  his  beard  hanging  down  to  the  star  on 
his  breast ;  and  the  first  gentleman  of  Europe — so  lavish  of  his 
portrait  everywhere,  and  so  chary  of  showing  his  royal  person" 
• — all  the  stalwart  brothers  of  the  now  all  but  extinct  generation 
are  there  ;  their  quarrels  and  their  pleasures,  their  glories  and 
disgraces,  enemies,  flatterers,  detractors,  admirers  —  all  now 
buried.  Is  it  not  curious  to  think  that  the  King  of  Trumps 
now  virtually  reigns  in  this  place,  and  has  deposed  the  other 
lynasty  ? 

Very  early  one  morning,  wishing  to  have  a  sketch  of  the 
White  Tower  in  which  our  English  princess  had  been  impris- 
oned, I  repaired  to  the  gardens,  and  set  about  a  work,  which, 
when  completed,  will  no  doubt  have  the  honor  of  a  place  on 
the  line  at  the  Exhibition ;  and  returning  homewards  to  break- 
fast, musing  upon  the  strange  fortunes  and  inhabitants  of  the 
queer,  fantastic,  melancholy  place,  behold,  I  came  suddenly 
upon  a  couple  of  persons,  a  male  and  a  female ;  the  latter  of 
whom  wore  a  blue  hood  or  "  ugly,"  and  blushed  very  much  on 
seeing  me.  The  man  began  to  laugh  behind  his  mustaches, 
the  which  cachinnation  was  checked  by  an  appealing  look  from 
the  young  lady  ;  and  he  held  out  his  hand  and  said,  "  How  d'y^ 
do,  Titmarsh  ?     Been  out  making  some  cawickachaws,  hay  ?  " 


154 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  OiV  IHE  RHINE. 


I  need  not  say  that  the  youth  before  me  was  the  heavy 
dragoon,  and  the  maiden  was  Miss  Fanny  Kicklebury,  Or 
need  I  repeat  that,  in  the  course  of  my  blighted  being,  I  never 
loved  a  young  gazelle  to  glad  me  with  its  dark-blue  eye,  but 
when  it  came  to,  &c.,  the  usual  disappointment  was  sure  to 
ensue  ?  There  is  no  necessity  why  I  should  allude  to  my  feel- 
ings at  this  most  manifest  and  outrageous  case,  I  gave  a  with- 
ering glance  of  scorn  at  the  pair,  and,  with  a  stately  salutation, 
passed  on. 

Miss  Fanny  came  tripping  after  me.  She  held  out  he: 
little  hand  with  such  a  pretty  look*  of  deprecation,  that  I  coula 
not  but  take  it ;  and  she  said,  "  Mr.  Titmarsh,  if  you  please,  I 
want  to  speak  to  you,  if  you  please;"  and,  choking  with  emo- 
tion, I  bade  her  speak  on. 

"  My  brother  knows  all  about  it,  and  highly  approves  of 
Captain  Hicks,"  she  said,  with  her  head  hanging  down  ;  "  and 
oh,  he's  very  good  and  kind  :  and  I  know  him  much  better  now, 
than  I  did  when  we  were  on  board  the  steamer." 

I  thought  how  I  had  mimicked  him,  and  what  an  ass  I  had 
been. 

"And  you  know,"  she  continued,  "  that  you  have  quite  de- 
serted me  for  the  last  ten  days  for  your  great  acquaintances." 

"  I  have  been  to  play  chess  with  Lord  Knightsbridge,  who 
has  the  gout." 

"  And  to  drink  tea  constantly  with  that  American  lady  ;  and 
you  have  written  verses  in  her  album,  and  in  Lavinia's  album  ; 
and  as  I  saw  that  you  had  quite  thrown  me  off,  why  I — my 
brother  approves  of  it  highly;  and — and  Captain  Hicks  likes 
you  very  much,  and  says  you  amuse  him  very  much — indeed  he 
does,"  says  the  arch  little  wretch.  And  then  she  added  a  post- 
script, as  it  were,  to  her  letter,  which  contained,  as  usual,  the 
point  which  she  wished  to  urge  : — ■ 

"You — won't  break  it  to  mamma — will  you  be  so  kind? 
My  brother  will  do  that  " — and  I  promised  her  ;  and  she  ran 
away,  kissing  her  hand  to  me.  And  I  did  not  say  a  word  to 
Lady  Kicklebury,  and  not  above  a  thousand  people  at  Noirbourg 
knew  that  Miss  Kicklebury  and  Captain  Hicks  were  engaged. 

And  now  let  those  v.'ho  are  too  confident  of  their  virtue  lis- 
ten to  the  truthful  and  melancholy  story  which  I  have  to  relate, 
and  humble  themselves,  and  bear  in  mind  that  the  most  perfect 
among  us  are  occasionally  liable  to  fall.  Kicklebury  was  not 
perfect, — I  do  not  defend  his  practice.  He  spent  a  great  deal 
more   time   and  money  than  was  good  for  him  at  M.  Lenoir's 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 


»5S 


gaming-table,  and  the  only  thing  which  the  young  fellow  never 
lost  was  his  good-humor.  If  Fortune  shook  her  swift  wings 
and  fled  away  from  him,  he  laughed  at  the  retreating  pinions, 
and  you  saw  him  dancing  and  laughing  as  gayly  after  losing  a 
rouleau,  as  if  he  was  made  of  money,  and  really  had  the  five 
thousand  a  year  which  his  mother  said  was  the  amount  of  the 
Kicklebury  property.  But  when  her  ladyship's  jointure,  and 
the  young  ladies'  allowances,  and  the  interest  of  mortgages  were 
paid  out  of  the  five  thousand  a  year,  I  grieve  to  say  that  the 
gallant  Kicklebury's  income  was  to  be  counted  by  hundreds 
and  not  by  thousands  ;  so  that,  for  any  young  lady  who  wants 
a  carriage  (and  who  can  live  without  one  ?)  our  friend  the  baro- 
net is  not  a  desirable  specimen  of  bachelors.  Now,  whether 
it  was  that  the  presence  of  his  mamma  interrupted  his  pleasures, 
or  certain  of  her  ways  did  not  please  him,  or  that  he  had  lost 
all  his  money  at  roulette  and  could  afford  no  more,  certain  it  is, 
that  after  about  a  fortnight's  stay  at  Noirbourg,  he  went  off  to 
shoot  with  Count  Einhorn  in  Westphalia ;  he  and  Hicks  part- 
ing the  dearest  of  friends,  and  the  Baronet  going  off  on  a  pony 
which  the  captain  lent  to  him.  Between  him  and  Milliken,  his 
brother-in-law,  there  was  not  much  sympathy :  for  he  pronounced 
Mr.  Milliken  to  be  what  is  called  a  muff ;  and  had  never  been 
familiar  with  his  eldest  sister  Lavinia,  of  whose  poems  he  had 
a  mean  opinion,  and  who  used  to  tease  and  worry  him  by  teach- 
ing him  French,  and  telling  tales  of  him  to  his  mamma,  when 
he  was  a  schoolboy  home  for  the  holidays.  Whereas,  between 
the  baronet  and  Miss  Fanny  there  seemed  to  be  the  closest  af- 
fection ;  they  walked  together  every  morning  to  the  waters  ; 
they  joked  and  laughed  with  each  other  as  happily  as  possible. 
Fanny  was  almost  ready  to  tell  fibs  to  screen  her  brother's  mal- 
practices from  her  mamma :  she  cried  when  she  heard  of  his 
mishaps,  and  that  he  had  lost  too  much  money  at  the  green 
table  ;  and  when  Sir  Thomas  went  away,  the  good  little  soul 
brought  him  five  louis ;  which  was  all  the  money  she  had  :  for 
you  see  she  paid  her  mother  handsomely  for  her  board  \  and 
when  her  little  gloves  and  milliners'  bills  were  settled — how 
much  was  there  left  out  of  two  hundred  a  year  ?  And  she 
cried  when  she  heard  that  Hicks  had  lent  Sir  Thomas  money, 
and  w-ent  up  and  said,  "Thank  you.  Captain  Hicks;"  and 
shook  hands  with  the  captain  so  eagerly,  that  I  thought  he  was 
a  lucky  fellow,  who  had  a  father  a  Avealthy  attorney  in  Bedford 
Row.  Heigh-ho  !  I  saw  how  matters  were  going.  The  birds 
must  sing  in  the  spring-time,  and  the  flowers  bud. 

Mrs.  Milliken,  in  her  character  of  invalid,  took  the  advan- 


156  THE  KICKLEBURYS  0/V  THE  RHTNE. 

tage  of  her  situation  to  have  her  liusband  constantly  about  her, 
reading  to  her,  or  fetching  the  doctor  to  her,  or  watching  her 
whilst  she  was  dozing,  and  so  forth  ;  and  Lady  Kicklebury 
found  the  Hfe  which  this  pair  led  rather  more  monotonous  than 
that  sort  of  existence  which  she  liked,  and  would  leave  them 
alone  with  Fanny  (Captain  Hicks  not  uncommonly  coming  in  to 
take  tea  with  the  three\  whilst  her  ladyship  went  to  the  Redoute 
to  hear  the  music,  or  read  the  papers,  or  play  a  game  of  whist 
there. 

The  newspajier-room  at  Noirbourg  is  next  to  the  roulette- 
room,  into  which  the  doors  are  always  open;  and  Lady  K. 
would  come,  with  newspaper  in  hand,  into  this  play-room,  some- 
times, and  look  on  at  the  gamesters.  I  have  mentioned  a  little 
Russian  boy,  a  little  imp  with  the  most  mischievous  intelligence 
and  good-humor  in  his  face,  who  was  suffered  by  his  parents  to 
play  as  much  as  he  chose,  and  who  pulled  bonbons  out  of  one 
pocket  and  Napoleons  out  of  the  other,  and  seemed  to  have 
quite  a  diabolical  luck  at  the  table. 

Lady  Kicklebury's  terror  and  interest  at  seeing  this  boy 
were  extreme.  She  watched  him  and  watched  him,  and  he 
seemed  always  to  win ;  and  at  last  her  ladyship  put  down  just 
a  florin — only  just  one  florin — on  one  of  the  numbers  at  roulette 
which  the  little  Russian  imp  was  backing.  Number  twent}-- 
seven  came  up,  and  the  croupiers  flung  over  three  gold  pieces 
and  five  florins  to  Lady  Kicklebury,  which  she  raked  up  with  a 
trembling  hand. 

She  did  not  play  any  more  that  night,  but  sat  in  the  play- 
room, pretending  to  read  the  Times  newspaper  ;  but  you  could 
see  her  eye  peering  over  the  sheet,  and  alvi'ays  fixed  on  the 
little  imp  of  a  Russian.  He  had  very  good  iuck  that  night, 
and  his  winning  made  her  very  savage.  As  he  retired,  rolling 
his  gold  pieces  into  his  pocket  and  sucking  his  barley-sugar, 
she  glared  after  him  with  angry  eyes ;  and  went  home,  and 
scolded  everybody,  and  had  no  sleep.  I  could  hear  her  scold- 
ing. Our  apartments  in  the  Tissisch  House  overlooked  Lady 
Kicklebury's  suite  of  rooms  :  the  great  windows  were  open  in 
the  autumn.  Yes  ;  I  could  hear  her  scolding,  and  see  some 
other  people  sitting  whispering  in  the  embrasure,  or  looking 
out  on  the  harvest  moon„ 

The  next  evening.  Lady  Kicklebury  shirked  away  from  the 
concert ;  and  I  saw  her  in  the  play-room  again,  going  round 
and  round  the  table  ;  and,  lying  in  ambush  behind  the  journal 
des  Dcbats^  I  marked  how,  after  looking  stealthily  round,  ray 
lady  whipped  a  piece  of  money  under  the  croupier's  elbow,  and 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  OiV  THE  RHIXE. 


157 


(there  having  been  no  coin  there  previously)  I  saw  a  florin  on 
the  Zero, 

She  lost  that,  and  walked  away.  Then  she  came  back  and 
put  down  two  florins  on  a  number,  and  lost  again,  and  became 
very  red  and  angry  ;  then  she  retreated,  and  came  back  a  third 
time,  and  a  seat  being  vacated  by  a  player.  Lady  Kicklebury 
sat  down  at  the  verdant  board.  Ah  me  !  She  had  a  pretty 
good  evening,  and  carried  off  a  little  money  again  that  night. 
The  next  day  was  Sunday :  she  gave  two  florins  at  the  collec- 
tion at  church,  to  Fanny's  surprise  at  mamma's  liberality.  On 
this  night  of  course  there  was  no  play.  Her  ladyship  wrote 
letters,  and  read  a  sermon. 

But  the  next  night  she  was  back  at  the  table  ;  and  won  very 
plentifully,  until  the  little  Russian  sprite  made  his  appearance, 
when  it  seemed  that  her  luck  changed.  She  began  to  bet  upon 
him,  and  the  young  Calmuck  lost  too.  Her  ladyship's  temper 
went  along  with  her  money  :  first  she  backed  the  Calmuck,  and 
then  she  played  against  him.  When  she  played  against  him, 
his  luck  turned ;  and  he  began  straightway  to  win.  She  put 
on  more  and  more  money  as  she  lost :  her  winnings  went : 
gold  came  out  of  secret  pockets.  She  had  but  a  florin  left  at 
last,  and  tried  it  on  a  number,  and  failed.  She  got  up  to  go 
away.  I  watched  her,  and  I  watched  Mr.  Justice  ^acus,  too, 
who  put  down  a  Napoleon  when  he  thought  nobody  was  looking. 

The  next  day  my  Lady  Kicklebury  walked  over  to  the 
monej^-changers,  where  she  changed  a  couple  of  circular  notes. 
She  was  at  the  table  that  night  again :  and  the  next  night,  and 
the  next  night,  and  the  next. 

By  about  the  fifth  day  she  was  like  a  wild  woman.  She 
scolded  so,  that  Hirsch,  the  courier,  said  he  should  retire  from 
monsieur's  service,  as  he  was  not  hired  by  Lady  Kicklebury: 
that  Bowman  gave  warning,  and  told  another  footman  in  the 
building  that  he  wouldn't  stand  the  old  cat  no  longer,  blow 
him  if  he  would  :  that  the  maid  (who  was  a  Kicklebury  girl) 
and  Fanny  cried  :  and  that  Mrs.  Milliken's  maid.  Finch,  com- 
plained to  her  mistress,  who  ordered  her  husband  to  remon- 
strate with  her  mother.  Milliken  remonstrated  with  his  usual 
mildness,  and,  of  course,  was  routed  by  her  ladyship.  Mrs. 
Milliken  said,  "  Give  me  the  daggers,"  and  came  to  her  hus- 
band's rescue.  A  battle  royal  ensued  ;  the  scared  Milliken 
hanging  about  his  blessed  Lavinia,  and  entreating  and  implor- 
ing her  to  be  calm.  Mrs.  Milliken  luas  calm.  She  asserted 
her  dignity  as  mistress  of  her  own  family  :  as  controller  of  her 
own  household,  as  wife  of  her  adored  husband ;  and  she  tok' 

II* 


158  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 

her  mamma,  that  with  her  or  here  she  must  not  interfere  ;  tha;: 
she  knew  her  duty  as  a  child :  but  that  she  also  knew  it  as  a 

wife,   as  a ■      The  rest  of  the  sentence  was   drowned,   as 

Milliken,  rushing  to  her,  called  her  his  soul's  angel,  his  adored 
blessing. 

Lady  Kicklebury  remarked  that  Shakspeare  was  very  right 
in  stating  how  much  sharper  than  a  thankless  tooth  it  is  to  have 
a  serpent  child. 

Mrs.  Milliken  said,  the  conversation  could  not  be  carried 
on  in  this  manner  :  that  it  was  best  her  mamma  should  no\^ 
know,  once  for  all,  that  the  way  in  which  she  assumed  the  com- 
mand at  Pigeoncot  was  intolerable;  that  all  the  servants  had 
given  warning,  and  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  they  could 
be  soothed  :  and  that,  as  their  living  together  only  led  to  quar- 
rels and  painful  recriminations  (the  calling  her,  after  her  for- 
bearance, a  serpent  child,  was  an  expression  which  she  would 
hope  to  forgive  and  forget,)  they  had  better  part. 

Lady  Kicklebury  wears  a  front,  and,  I  make  no  doubt,  a 
complete  jasey  ;  or  she  certainly  would  ha\'e  let  down  her 
back  hair  at  this  minute,  so  overpowering  were  her  feelings, 
and  so  bitter  her  indignation  at  her  daughter's  black  ingrati- 
tude. She  intimated  some  of  her  sentiments,  by  ejaculatory 
conjurations  of  evil.  She  hoped  her  daughter  might  not  feel 
what  ingratitude  was  ;  that  she  might  never  have  children  to 
turn  on  her  and  bring  her  to  the  grave  with  grief. 

"  Bring  me  to  the  grave  with  fiddlestick  !  "  Mrs.  Milliken 
said  with  some  asperity.  "  And,  as  we  are  going  to  jDart, 
mamma,  and  as  Horace  has  paid  everything  on  the  journey  as 
yet,  and  we  have  only  brought  a  very  few  circular  notes  with 
us,  perhaps  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  give  him  your  share 
of  the  travelling  expenses — for  you,  for  Fanny,  and  your  two 
servants  whom  you  zvoiild  bring  with  you  :  and  the  man  has 
only  been  a  perfect  hindrance  and  great  useless  log,  and  our 
courier  has  had  to  do  everything.  Your  share  is  now  eighty-two 
pounds." 

Lady  Kicklebury  at  this  gave  three  screams,  so  loud  that 
even  the  resolute  Lavinia  stopped  in  her  speech.  Her  lady- 
ship looked  wildly  :  "  Lavinia  !  Horace  !  Fanny  my  child," 
she  said,  "come  here,  and  listen  to  your  mother's  shame." 

"  What.''  "  cried  Horace,  aghast. 

"  I  am  ruined  !  I  am  a  beggar  !  Yes  ;  a  beggar.  I  have 
lost  all — all  at  yonder  dreadful  table." 

"  How  do  you  mean  all  ?  How  much  is  all  ?  "  asked 
Horace. 


THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE. 


^59 


"  All  the  money  I  brought  with  me,  Horace.  I  intended 
to  have  paid  the  whole  expenses  of  "the  journey  :  yours,  this 
ungrateful  child's — everything.  But,  a  week  ago,  having  seen 
a  lovely  baby's  lace  dress  at  the  lace-shop  ;  and — and — won 
enough  at  wh-wh-whoo-ist  to  pay  for  it,  all  but  two-two  florins 
— in  an  evil  moment  I  went  to  the  roulette-table — and  lost — ' 
every  shilling  ;  and  now,  on  my  knees  before  you,  I  confess  my 
shame." 

I  am  not  a  tragic  painter,  and  certainly  won't  attempt  to 
depict  this  harrowing  scene.  But  what  could  she  mean  by 
saying  she  wished  to  pay  everything?  She  had  but  two 
twenty-pound  notes  :  and  how  she  was  to  have  paid  all  the 
expenses  of  the  tour  with  that  small  sum,  I  cannot  conjecture. 

The  confession,  however,  had  the  effect  of  mollifying  poor 
Milliken  and  his  wife  :  after  the  latter  had  learned  that  het 
mamma  had  no  money  at  all  at  her  London  bankers',  and  had 
overdrawn  her  account  there,  Lavinia  consented  that  Horace 
should  advance  her  fifty  pounds  upon  her  ladyship's  solemn 
promise  of  repayment. 

And  now  it  was  agreed  that  this  highly  respectable  lady 
should  return  to  England,  quick  as  she  might :  somewhat 
sooner  than  all  the  rest  of  the  public  did  ;  and  leave  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Horace  Milliken  behind  her,  as  the  waters  were  still  con- 
sidered highly  salutary  to  that  most  interesting  invalid.  And 
to  England  Lady  Kicklebury  went ;  taking  advantage  of  Lord 
Talboys'  return  thither  to  place  herself  under  his  lordship's 
protection  :  as  if  the  enormous  Bowman  was  not  protector 
sufficient  for  her  ladyship  ;  and  as  if  Captain  Hicks  would 
have  allowed  any  mortal  man,  any  German  student,  any  French 
tourist,  any  Prussian  whiskerando,  to  do  a  harm  to  Miss 
Fanny  !  For  though  Hicks  is  not  a  brilliant  or  poetical  genius, 
I  am  bound  to  say  that  the  fellow  has  good  sense,  good  man- 
ners, and  a  good  heart ;  and  with  these  qualities,  a  competent 
sum  of  money,  and  a  pair  of  exceedingly  handsome  mus- 
taches, perhaps  the  poor  little  Mrs.  Launcelot  Hicks  may  be 
happy. 

No  accident  befell  Lady  Kicklebury  on  her  voyage  home- 
wards :  but  she  got  one  more  lesson  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  which 
may  serve  to  make  her  ladyship  more  cautious  for  the  future  : 
for,  seeing  Madame  la  Princesse  de  Mogador  enter  into  a  car- 
riage on  the  railway,  into  which  Lord  Talboys  followed,  nothing 
would  content  Lady  Kicklebury  but  to  rush  into  the  carriage 
after  this  noble  pair ;  and  the  vehicle  turned  out  to  be  what  is 
called  on  the  German  lines,  and  what  I  wish  were  established 


i6o  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE, 

in  England,  the  Ranch  Coupe.  Having  seated  himself  in  this 
vehicle,  and  looked  ratlier  sulkil)'  at  my  lady.  Lord  Talboys 
began  to  smoke  :  which,  as  the  son  of  an  English  earl,  heir  to 
many  thousands  per  annum,  Lady  Kicklebury  permitted  him  to 
do.  And  she  introduced  herself  to  Madame  la  Princesse  de 
Mogador,  mentioning  to  her  highness  that  she  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  Madame  la  Princesse  at  Rougetnoirbourg  ;  that  she. 
Lady  K.,  was  the  mother  of  the  Chevalier  de  Kicklebury,  who 
had  the  advantage  of  the  acquaintance  of  Madame  la  Prin- 
cesse ;  and  that  she  hoped  Madame  la  Princesse  had  enjoyed 
her  stay  at  the  waters.  To  these  advances  the  Princess  of 
Mogador  returned  a  gracious  and  affable  salutation,  exchanging 
glances  of  peculiar  meaning  with  two  highly  respectable  bearded 
gentlemen  who  travelled  in  her  suite  ;  and,  when  asked  by 
milady  whereabouts  her  highness's  residence  was  at  Paris,  said 
that  her  hotel  was  in  the  Rue  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  :  where 
Lady  Kicklebury  hoped  to  have  the  honor  of  waiting  upon  Ma- 
dame la  Princesse  de  Mogador. 

But  when  one  of  the  bearded  gentlemen  called  the  prirxess 
by  the  familiar  name  of  Fifine,  and  the  other  said,  "Veux-tu 
fumer,  Mogador  ?  "  and  the  princess  actually  took  a  cigar  and 
began  to  smoke,  Lady  Kicklebury  was  aghast,  and  trembled  j 
and  presently  Lord  Talboys  burst  into  a  loud  fit  of  laughter. 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  your  lordship's  amusement  ?  "  asked 
the  dowager,  looking  very  much  frightened,  and  blushing  like 
a  maiden  of  sixteen. 

"  Excuse  me.  Lady  Kicklebury,  but  I  can't  help  it,"  he  said. 
"You've  been  talking  to  your  opposite  neighbor — she  don't 
understand  a  word  of  English — and  calling  her  princess  and 
highness,  and  she's  no  more  a  princess  than  you  or  L  She  is  a 
little  milliner  in  the  street  she  mentioned,  and  she  dances  at 
Mabille  and  Chriteau  Rouge." 

Hearing  these  two  familiar  names,  the  princess  looked  hard 
at  Lord  Talboys,  but  he  never  lost  countenance  ;  and  at  the 
next  station  Lady  Kicklebury  rushed  out  of  the  smoking-car- 
riage and  returned  to  her  own  place  ;  where,  I  dare  say.  Captain 
Hicks  and  Miss  Fanny  were  delighted  once  more  to  have  the 
adv'antage  of  her  company  and  conversation.  And  so  they  went 
back  to  England,  and  the  Kickleburys  were  no  longer  seen  on 
the  Rhine.  If  her  ladyship  is  not  cured  of  hunting  after  great 
people,  it  will  not  be  for  want  of  warning:  but  which  of  us  in 
life  has  not  had  many  warnings  ;  and  is  it  for  lack  of  them  that 
we  stick  to  our  little  failings  still .-' 

When  the  Kickleburys  were  gone,  that  merry  little  Rouget- 
noirbourg  did  not  seem  the  same  place  to  me,  somehow.     The 


THE   PRINCESS  OF  MOGADOR. 


THE  KTCKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE.  i6i 

sun  shone  still,  but  the  wind  came  down  cold  from  the  purple 
hills  ;  the  band  played,  but  their  tunes  were  stale ;  the  prom- 
enaders  paced  the  alleys,  but  I  knew  all  their  faces :  as  I 
looked  out  of  my  windows  in  the  Tissisch  House  upon  the  great 
blank  casements  lately  occupied  by  the  Kickleburys,  and 
remembered  what  a  pretty  face  I  had  seen  looking  thence  but 
a  few  days  back,  I  cared  not  to  look  any  longer ;  and  though 
Mrs.  Millikin  did  invite  me  to  tea,  and  talked  fine  arts  and 
poetry  over  the  meal,  both  the  beverage  and  the  conversation 
seemed  very  weak  and  insipid  to  me,  and  I  fell  asleep  once  in 
my  chair  opposite  that  highly  cultivated  being.  "  Let  us  go 
back,  Lankin,"  said  I  to  the  Serjeant,  and  he  was  nothing  loth  \ 
for  most  of  the  other  Serjeants,  barristers,  and  Queen's  counsel 
were  turning  homewards,  by  this  time,  the  period  of  term  time 
summoning  them  all  to  the  Temple. 

So  we  went  straight  one  day  to  Biberich  on  the  Rhine,  and 
found  the  little  town  full  of  Britons,  all  trooping  home  like  our- 
selves. Everybody  comes,  and  everybody  goes  away  again,  at 
about  the  same  time.  The  Rhine  innkeepers  say  that  their 
customers  cease  with  a  single  day  almost : — that  in  three  days 
they  shall  have  ninety,  eighty,  a  hundred  guests  ;  on  the  fourth, 
ten  or  eight.  We  do  as  our  neighbors  do.  Though  we  don't 
speak  to  each  other  much  when  we  are  out  a  pleasuring,  we 
take  our  holiday  in  common,  and  go  back  to  our  work  in  gangs. 
Little  Biberich  was  so  full,  that  Lankin  and  I  could  not  get 
rooms  at  the  large  inns  frequented  by  other  persons  of  fashion, 
and  could  only  procure  a  room  between  us,  "  at  the  German 
House,  where  you  find  English  comfort,"  says  the  advertisement, 
"with  German  prices." 

But  oh,  the  English  comfort  of  those  beds  !  How  did  Lan- 
kin manage  in  his,  with  his  great  long  legs  ?  How  did  I  toss 
and  tumble  in  mine ;  which,  small  as  it  was,  I  was  not  destined 
to  enjoy  alone,  but  to  pass  the  night  in  company  with  an- 
thropophagous wretched  reptiles,  who  took  their  horrid  meal  off 
an  English  Christian  !  I  thought  the  morning  would  never 
come  ;  and  when  the  tardy  dawn  at  length  arrived,  and  as  I 
was  in  my  first  sleep,  dreaming  of  Miss  Fanny,  behold  I  was 
wakened  up  by  the  Serjeant,  already  dressed  and  shaven,  and 
who  said,  "  Rise,  Titmarsh,  the  steamer  will  be  here  in  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour."  And  the  modest  gentleman  retired,  and 
left  me  to  dress. 


The  next  morning  we  had  passed  by  the  rocks  and  towers, 
the  old  familiar  landscapes,  the  gleaming  towns  by  the  riverside. 


1 62  THE  KICKLEBURYS  OA'  THE  RHINE. 

and  the  green  vineyards  combed  along  the  hills,  and  when  I  woke 
up,  it  was  at  a  great  hotel  at  Cologne,  and  it  was  not  sunrise  yet. 

Deutz  lay  opposite,  and  over  Deutz  the  dusky  sky  was  red- 
dened. The  hills  were  veiled  in  the  mist  and  the  gray.  The 
gray  river  flowed  underneath  us  ;  the  steamers  were  roosting 
along  the  quays,  a  light  keeping  watch  in  the  cabins  here  and 
there,  and  its  reflections  quivering  in  the  water.  As  I  look,  the 
sky-line  towards  the  east  grows  redder  and  redder.  A  long 
troop  of  gray  horsemen  winds  down  the  river  road,  and  passes 
over  the  bridge  of  boats.  You  might  take  them  for  ghosts, 
those  gray  horsemen,  so  shadowy  do  they  look ;  but  you  hear* 
the  trample  of  their  hoofs  as  they  pass  over  the  planks.  Every 
minute  the  dawn  twinkles  up  into  the  twilight ;  and  over 
Deutz  the  heaven  blushes  brighter.  The  quays  begin  to  fill 
with  men  :  the  carts  begin  to  creak  and  rattle,  and  wake  the 
sleeping  echoes.  Ding,  ding,  ding,  the  steamers'  bells  begin  to 
ring  :  the  people  on  board  to  stir  and  wake  :  the  lights  may  be 
extinguished,  and  take  their  turn  of  sleep :  the  active  boats 
shake  themselv^es,  and  push  out  into  the  river :  the  great 
bridge  opens,  and  gives  them  passage  :  the  church  bells 
of  the  city  begin  to  clink  :  the  cavalry  trumpets  blow  from 
the  opposite  bank  :  the  sailor  is  at  the  wheel,  the  porter  at 
his  burden,  the  soldier  at  his  musket,  and  the  priest  at  his 
prayers.     *     *     *     * 

And  lo  !  in  a  flash  of  crimson  splendor,  with  blazing  scarlet 
clouds  running  before  his  chariot,  and  heralding  his  majestic 
approach,  God's  sun  arises  upon  the  world,  and  all  nature 
wakens  and  brightens. 

O  glorious  spectacle  of  light  and  life  !  O  beatific  symbol 
of  Power,  Love,  Joy,  Beauty  !  Let  us  look  at  thee  with  humble 
wonder,  and  thankfully  acknowledge  and  adore.  What  gracious 
forethought  is  it  —  what  generous  and  loving  provision,  that 
deigns  to  prepare  for  our  eyes  and  to  soothe  our  hearts  with 
such  a  splendid  morning  festival  !  For  these  magnificent 
bounties  of  heaven  to  us,  let  us  be  thankful,  even  that  we  can 
feel  thankful — (for  thanks  surely  is  ■  the  noblest  effort,  as  it  is 
the  greatest  delight,  of  the  gentle  soul ) — and  so,  a  grace  for  this 
feast,  let  all  say  who  partake  of  it. 

See  !  the  mist  clears  off  Drachenfels,  and  it  looks  out  from 
the  distance,  and  bids  us  a  friendly  farewell.  Farewell  to  holi- 
day and  sunshine  ;  farewell  to  kindly  sport  and  pleasant  leisure  ! 
Let  us  say  good-by  to  the  Rhine,  friend.  Fogs,  and  cares,  and 
labor  are  awaiting  us  by  the  Thames  ;  and  a  kind  face  or  two 
looking  out  for  us  to  cheer  and  bid  us  welcome. 

END    OF    "  THE    KICKLEBURYS    ON    THE    RHINE."  . 


THE 


ROSE  AND   THE    RING; 


OR,    THE 


HISTORY  OF  PRINCE  GIGLIO  AND  PRINCE  BULBO. 


^  (ifmsibc  |1nnlomimc  for  O^rtat  nub  ^miiU  (Tbilbrcir, 


By   Mr.   M.   A.  TITMARSH. 


(«63/ 


PRELUDE. 

It  happened  that  the  undersigned  spent  the  last  Christmas 
season  in  a  foreign  city  where  there  were  many  English  chij' 
dren. 

In  that  city,  if  you  wanted  to  give  a  child's  party,  you  could 
not  even  get  a  magic-lantern  or  buy  Twelfth-Night  characters — 
those  funny  painted  pictures  of  the  King,  the  Queen,  the  Lover, 
the  Lady,  the  Dandy,  the  Captain,  and  so  on — with  which  our 
young  ones  are  wont  to  recreate  themselves  at  this  festive  time. 

My  friend  Miss  Bunch,  who  was  governess  of  a  large  family 
that  lived  in  the  Piano  Nobile  of  the  house  inhabited  by  myself 
and  my  young  charges  (it  was  the  Palazzo  Poniatowski  at 
Rome,  and  Messrs.  Spillmann,  two  of  the  best  pastry-cooks  in 
Christendom,  have  their  shop  on  the  ground  floor) :  Miss 
Bunch,  I  say,  begged  me  to  draw  a  set  of  Twelfth-Night  char- 
acters for  the  amusement  of  our  young  people. 

She  is  a  lady  of  great  fancy  and  droll  imagination,  and 
having  looked  at  the  characters,  she  and  I  composed  a  history 
about  them,  which  was  recited  to  the  little  folks  at  night,  and 
served  as  our  fireside  pantomime. 

Our  juvenile  audience  was  amused  by  the  adventures  of 
Giglio  and  Bulbo,  Rosalba  and  Angelica.  I  am  bound  to  say 
the  fate  of  the  Hall  Porter  created  a  considerable  sensation ; 
and  the  wrath  of  Countess  Gruffanuff  was  received  with  extreme 
pleasure. 

If  these  children  are  pleased,  thought  I,  why  should  not 
others  be  amused  also  .-'  In  a  few  days  Dr.  Birch's  young 
friends  will  be  expected  to  re-assemble  at  Rodwell  Regis,  where 
they  will  learn  everything  that  is  useful,  and  under  the  eyes  of 
careful  ushers  continue  the  business  of  their  little  lives. 

(«65) 


1 66  PRELUDE. 

But,  in  tne  meanwhile,  and  for  a  brief  holiday,  let  us  laugh 
and  be  as  pleasant  as  we  can.  And  you  elder  folks — a  little 
joking,  and  dancing,  and  fooling  will  do  even  you  no  harm. 
The  author  wishes  you  a  merry  Christmas,  and  welcomes  yots 
to  the  Fireside  Pantomime. 

M.  A.  TITMARSH. 
Decani)  er^  1S54. 


THE   ROSE  AND  THE   RING. 


I. 


SHOWS    HOW   THE    ROYAL    FAMILY   SAT    DOWN    TO    BREAKFAST. 

This  is  Valoroso  XXIV.,  King  of  Paflagonia,  seated  with  his 
Queen  and  only  child  at  their  royal  breakfast-table,  and  receiv- 
ing the  letter  which  announces  to  his  Majesty  a  proposed  visit 
from  Prince  Bulbo,  heir  of  Padella,  reigning  King  of  Crim 
Tartary.  Remark  the  delight  upon  the  monarch's  royal  fea- 
tures. He  is  so  absorbed  in  the  perusal  of  the  King  of  Crim 
Tartary's  letter,  that  he  allows  his  egg  to  get  cold,  and  leaves 
his  august  muffins  untasted, 

"  What !  that  wicked,  brave,  delightful  Prince  Bulbo  !  "  cries 
Princess  Angelica ;  '*  so  handsome,  so  accomplished,  so  witty — 
the  conqueror  of  Rimbombamento,  where  he  slew  ten  thousand 
giants  ! " 

"  Who  told  you  of  him,  my  dear  ?  "  asks  his  Majesty. 

"A  little  bird,"  says  xAingelica. 

"  Poor  Giglio  !  "  says  mamma,  pouring  out  the  tea. 

(•67) 


l68  THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING, 

"  Bother  Giglio  !  "  cries  Angelica,  tossing  up  her  head,  whicli 
rustled  with  a  thousand  curl-papers. 

"  I  wish,"  growls  the  King — "  I  wish  Giglio  was  *  *  *  *  " 

"Was  better?  Yes,  dear,  he  is  better,"  says  the  Queen. 
"  Angelica's  little  maid,  Betsinda,  told  me  so  when  she  came  to 
my  room  this  morning  with  my  early  tea." 

"  You  are  always  drinking  tea,"  says  the  monarch,  with  a 
scowl. 

"  It  is  better  than  drinking  port  or  brandy-and-water,"  re- 
plies her  Majesty. 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear,  I  only  said  you  were  fond  of  drinking 
tea,"  said  the  King  of  Paflagonia,  with  an  effort  as  if  to  com- 
mand his  temper.  "  Angelica  !  I  hope  you  have  plenty  of  new 
dresses  ;  your  milliners'  bills  are  long  enough.  My  dear  Queen, 
you  must  see  and  have  some  parties.  I  prefer  dinners,  but  of 
course  you  will  be  for  balls.  Your  everlasting  blue  velvet  quite 
tires  me  :  and,  my  love,  I  should  like  you  to  have  a  new  neck- 
lace. Order  one.  Not  more  than  a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  pounds." 

"  And  Giglio,  dear  ?  "  says  the  Queen. 

"  Giglio  may  go  to  the " 

"  Oh,  sir !  "  screams  her  Majesty.  "  Your  own  nephew  ! 
our  late  King's  only  son." 

"  Giglio  may  go  to  the  tailor's,  and  order  the  bills  to  be  sent 
in  to  Glumboso  to  pay.  Confound  him  !  I  mean  bless  his 
dear  heart.  He  need  want  for  nothing  ;  give  him  a  couple  of 
guineas  for  pocket-money,  my  dear:  and  you  may  as  well 
order  yourself  bracelets  while  you  are  about  the  necklace, 
Mrs.  V." 

Her  Majesty,  or  Mrs.  K,  as  the  monarch  facetiously  called 
her  (for  even  royalty  will  have  its  sport,  and  this  august  family 
were  very  much  attached),  embraced  her  husband,  and,  twining 
her  arm  round  her  daughter's  waist,  they  quitted  the  breakfast- 
room  in  order  to  make  all  things  ready  for  the  princely 
stranger. 

When  they  were  gone,  the  smile  that  had  lighted  up  the 
eyes  of  the  husband  znd  father  fled — the  pride  of  the  A7//^^fied 
— the  MAN  was  alone.  Had  1  the  pen  of  a  G.  P.  R.  James,  I 
would  describe  Valoroso's  torments  in  the  choicest  language  ; 
in  which  I  would  also  depict  his  flashing  eye,  his  distended 
nostril  —  his  dressing-gown,  pocket-handkerchief,  and  boots. 
But  I  need  not  say  I  have  not  the  pen  of  that  novelist :  suffice 
it  to  say,  Valoroso  was  alone. 

He  rushed  to  the  cupboard,  seizing  from  the  table  one  of 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


i6g 


the  many  egg-cups  with  which  his  princely  board  was  served  fot 
the  matin  meal,  drew  out  a  bottle  of  right  Nantz  or  Cognac, 
filled  and  emptied  the  cup  several  times,  and  laid  it  down  with 
a  hoarse  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  now  Valoroso  is  a  man  again. 

"  But  oh  !  "  he  went  on,  (still  sipping,  I  am  sorry  to  say,) 
"  ere  I  was  a  king,  I  needed  not  this  intoxicating  draught ; 
once  I  detested  the  hot  brandy  wine,  and  quaffed  no  other 
fount  but  nature's  rill.  It  dashes  not  more  quickly  o'er  the 
rocks,  than  I  did,  as,  with  blunderbuss  in  hand,  I  brushed 
away  the  early  morning  dew,  and  shot  the  partridge,  snipe,  or 
antlered  deer !  Ah  !  well  may  England's  dramatist  remark, 
'  Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown  !  '     Why  did  I  steal 

my  nephew's,  my  young  Giglio's ?     Steal !  said  I .-'  no,  no, 

no,  not  steal,  not  steal.  Let  me  withdraw  that  odious  expres- 
sion. I  took,  and  on  my  manly  head  I  set,  the  royal  crown  of 
Paflagonia ;  I  took,  and  with  my  royal  arm  I  wield,  the  scep- 
tral  rod  of  Paflagonia ;  I  took,  and  in  my  outstretclied  hand 
I  hold,  the  royal  orb  of  Paflagonia  !  Could  a  poor  boy,  a  sniv- 
elling, drivelling  boy — was  in  his  nurse's  arms  but  yesterday, 
and  cried  for  sugar-plums  and  puled  for  pap — bear  up  the 
awful  weight  of  crown,  orb,  sceptre  ?  gird  on  the  sword  my 
royal  fathers  wore,  and  meet  in  fight  the  tough  Crimean  foe  ?  " 

And  then  the  monarch  went  on  to  argue  in  his  own  mind 
(though  we  need  not  say  that  blank  verse  is  not  argument)  that 
what  he  had  got  it  was  his  duty  to  keep,  and  that,  if  at  one  time 
he  had  enteitained  ideas  of  a  certain  restitution,  which  shall  be 
nameless,  the  prospect  by  a  certain  marriage  of  uniting  two 
crowns  and  two  nations  which  had  been  engaged  in  bloody  and 
expensive  wars,  as  the  Paflagonians  and  the  Crimeans  had  been, 
put  the  idea  of  Giglio's  restoration  to  the  throne  out  of  the 
question  :  nay,  were  his  own  brother.  King  Savio,  alive,  he 
would  certainly  will  away  the  crown  from  his  own  son  in  order 
to  bring  about  such  a  desirable  union. 

Thus  easily  do  we  deceive  ourselves  !  Thus  do  we  fancy 
what  we  wish  is  right !  The  King  took  courage,  read  the 
papers,  finished  his  muffins  and  eggs,  and  rang  the  bell  for  his 
Prime  Minister.  The  Queen,  after  thinking  whether  she  should 
go  up  and  see  Giglio,  who  had  been  sick,  thought,  "  Not  now. 
Business  first ;  pleasure  afterwards.  I  will  go  and  see  deat 
Giglio  this  afternoon ;  and  now  I  will  drive  to  the  jeweller's,  to 
look  for  the  necklace  and  bracelets."  The  Princess  went  up 
into  her  own  room,  and  made  Betsinda,  her  maid,  bring  out  all 
her  dresses  ;  and  as  for  Giglio,  they  forgot  him  as  much  as  I 
forget  what  I  had  for  dinner  last  Tuesday  twelvemonth. 


170 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


II. 


HOW    KING    VALOROSO    GOT     THE     CROWN,    AND     PRINCE     GIGLTG 
WENT    WITHOUT. 

Paflagonia,  ten  or  twenty  thousand  years  ago,  appears  to 
have  been  one  of  those  kingdoms  where  the  laws  of  succession 

X    \     I    / 


were  not  settled  ;  for  when  King  Savio  died,  leaving  liis  brothei 
regent  of  the  kingdom,  and  guardian  of  Savio's  orphan  infant, 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


171 


this  unfaithful  regent  took  no  sort  of  regard  of  the  late  mon- 
arch's will  ;  had  himself  proclaimed  sovereign  of  Paflagonia 
under  the  title  of  King  Valoroso  XXIV.,  had  a  most  i-olendid 
coronation,  and  ordered  all  the  nobles  of  the  kingdom  Co  pay 
him  homage.     So  long  as  Valoroso  gave   them  plenty  nf  l>''lls 


at  Court,  plenty  of  money  and  lucrative  places,  the  Patiagonian 
nobility  did  not  care  who  was  king  ;  and,  as  for  the  people,  in 
those  early  times  they  were  equally  indifferent.  The  Prince 
Giglio,  by  reason  of  his  tender  age  at  his  royal  father's  death, 


172 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


did  not  feel  the  loss  of  his  crown  and  empire.  ..s  long  as  he 
had  plenty  of  toys  and  sweetmeats,  a  holiday  live  times  a  week, 
and  a  horse  and  gun  to  go  out  shooting  when  he  grew  a  little 
older,  and,  above  all,  the  company  of  his  darling  cousin,  the 
King's  only  child,  poor  Giglio  was  perfectly  contented  ;  nor 
did  he  envy  his  uncle  the  royal  robes  and  sceptre,  the  great 
hot  uncomfortable  throne  of  state,  and  the  enormous  cumber- 
some crown  in  which  that  monarch  appeared  from  morning  till 
night.  King  Valoroso's  portrait  has  been  left  to  us  ;  and  I 
think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  he  must  have  been  sometimes 
ratJur  tired  of  his  velvet,  and  his  diamonds,  and  his  ermine,  and 
his  grandeur.  I  shouldit't  like  to  sit  in  that  stifling  robe,  with 
such  a  thing  as  that  on  my  head. 

No  doubt,  the  Queen  must  have  been  lovely  in  her  youth ; 
for  though  she  grew  rather  stout  in  after  life,  yet  her  features, 
as  shown  in  her  portrait,  are  certainly  pleasing.  If  she  was 
fond  of  flattery,  scandal,  cards,  and  fine  clothes,  let  us  deal 
gently  with  her  infirmities  :  which,  after  all,  may  be  no  greater 
than  our  own.  She  was  kind  to  her  nephew  ;  and  if  she  had 
any  scruples  of  conscience  about  her  husband's  taking  the 
young  Prince's  crown,  consoled  herself  by  thinking  that  the 
King,  though  a  usurper,  was  a  most  respectable  man,  and  that 
at  his  death  Prince  Giglio  would  be  restored  to  his  throne,  and 
share  it  with  his  cousin,  whom  he  loved  so  fondly. 

The  Prime  Minister  was  Glumboso,  an  old  statesman,  who 
most  cheerfully  swore  fidelity  to  King  Valoroso,  and  in  whose 
hands  the  monarch  left  all  the  affairs  of  his  kingdom.  All 
Valoroso  wanted  was  plenty  of  money,  plenty  of  hunting,  plenty 
of  flattery,  and  as  little  trouble  as  possible.  As  long  as  he  had 
his  sport,  this  monarch  cared  little  how  his  people  paid  for  it: 
he  engaged  in  some  wars,  and  of  course  the  Paflagonian  news- 
papers announced  that  he  gained  prodigious  victories  :  he  had 
statues  erected  to  himself  in  every  city  of  the  empire  ;  and  of 
course  his  pictures  placed  e\erywhere,  and  in  all  the  print 
shops :  he  was  Valoroso  the  Magnanimous,  Valoroso  the  Vic 
torious,  Valoroso  the  Great,  and  so  forth  ; — for  even  in  these 
early  times  courtiers  and  people  knew  how  to  flatter. 

This  royal  pair  had  one  only  child,  the  Princess  Angelica, 
who,  you  may  be  sure,  was  a  paragon  in  the  courtiers'  eyes,  in 
her  parents',  and  in  her  own.  It  was  said  she  had  the  longest 
hair,  the  largest  eyes,  the  slimmest  waist,  the  smallest  foot,  and 
the  most  lovely  complexion  of  any  young  lady  in  the  Pafla- 
gonian dominions.  Her  accomplishments  were  announced  to 
tiC  even  superior  to  her  beauty  ;  and  governesses  used  to  shame 


7'HE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


173 


their  idle  pupils  by  telling  them  what  Princess  Angelica  could 
do.  She  could  play  the  most  difficult  pieces  of  music  at  sight. 
She  could  answer  any  one  of  "  Mangnall's  Questions."  She 
knew  every  date  in  the  history  of  Paflagonia,  and  every  other 
country.  She  knew  French,  English,  Italian,  German,  Span 
ish,  Hebrew,  Greek,  Latin,  Cappadocian,  Samothracian,  yEgean, 
and  Crim  Tartar.  In  a  word,  she  was  a  most  accomplished 
young  creature  ;  and  her  governess  and  lady-in-waiting  was  the 
severe  Countess  GruffanufT. 


Would  you  not  fancy,  from  this  picture,  that  Gruffanufi 
must  have  been  a  person  of  the  highest  birth  ?  She  looks  so 
haughty  that  I  should  have  thought  her  a  princess  at  the  very 
least,  with  a  pedigree  reaching  as  far  back  as  the  Deluge.     But 


174 


TFIE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


this  lady  was  no  better  born  than  many  other  ladies  who  give 
themselves  aiis  ;  and  all  sensible  people  laughed  at  her  absurd 
pretensions.  The  fact  is,  she  had  been  maid-servant  to  the 
Queen  when  her  Majesty  was  only  Princess,  and  her  husband 
had  been  head  footman ;  but  after  his  death,  or  disappearance^ 
of  which  you  shall  hear  presently,  this  Mrs.  Gruffanufif,  by  flat- 
tering, toadying,  and  wheedling  her  royal  mistress,  became  a 
favorite  with  the  Queen  (who  was  rather  a  weak  woman),  and 
her  Majesty  gave  her  a  title,  and  made  her  nursery  governess 
to  the  princess. 

And  now  I  must  tell  you  about  the  princess's  learning  and 
accomplishments,  for  which  she  had  such  a  wonderful  char- 
acter. Clever  Angelica  certainly  was,  but  as  idle  as  possible. 
Play  at  sight,  indeed  !  she  could  play  one  or  two  pieces,  and 
pretend  that  she  had  never  seen  them  before ;  she  could 
answer  half  a  dozen  "  Mangnall's  Questions;"  but  then  you 
must  take  care  to  ask  the  7-ight  ones.  As  for  her  languages, 
she  had  masters  in  plenty,  but  I  doubt  whether  she  knew  more 
than  a  few  phrases  in  each,  for  all  her  pretence  ;  and  as  for 
her  embroidery  and  her  drawing,  she  showed  beautiful  speci- 
mens, it  is  true,  but  7vho  did  them  I 

This  obliges  me  to  tell  the  truth,  and  to  do  so  I  must  go 
back  ever  so  far,  and  tell  you  about  the  Fairy  Blackstick. 


III. 


TELLS     WHO     THE     FAIRY     BLACKSTICK     WAS,     AND     WHO     WERE 
EVER    SO    MANY    GRAND    PERSONAGES    BESIDES. 

Between  the  kingdoms  of  Paflagonia  and  Crim  Tartary, 
there  lived  a  mysterious  personage,  who  was  known  in  those 
countries  as  the  Fairy  Blackstick,  from  the  ebony  wand  or 
crutch  which  she  carried  :  on  which  she  rode  to  the  moon 
sometimes,  or  upon  other  excursions  of  business  or  pleasure, 
and  with  which  she  performed  her  wonders. 

When  she  was  young,  and  had  been  first  taught  the  art  of 
conjuring,  by  the  necromancer  her  father,  she  was  always 
practising  lier  skill,  whizzing  about  from  one  kingdom  to  an- 
other upon  her  black  stick,  and  conferring  her  fairy  favors 
upon  this  prince  or  that.  She  had  scores  of  royal  godchildren  j 
turned  numberless  wicked  people  into  beasts,  birds,  mill-stones, 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


175 


clocks,  jDumps,  bootjacks,  umbrellas,  or  other  absurd  shapes  ; 
and,  in  a  word,  was  one  of  the  most  active  and  officious  of 
the  whole  college  of  fairies. 

But  after  two  or  three  thousand  years  of  this  sport,  I  sup- 
pose Blackstick  grew  tired  of  it.  Or  perhaps  she  thought, 
"  What  good  am  I  doing  by  sending  this  princess  to  sleep  for 
a  hundred  years  ?  by  fixing  a  black  pudding  on  to  that  booby's 
nose  ?  by  causing  diamonds  and  pearls  to  drop  from  one  little 
girl's  mouth,  and  vipers  and  toads  from  another's  ?  I  begin  to 
think  I  do  as  much  harm  as  good  by  my  performances.  I 
might  as  well  shut  my  incantations  up,  and  allow  things  to  take 
their  natural  course. 

"  There  were  my  two  young  goddaughters.  King  Savio's 
wife  and  Duke  Padella's  wife  :  I  gave  them  each  a  present, 
which  was  to  render  them  charming  in  the  eyes  of  their  hus- 
bands, and  secure  the  affection  of  those  gentlemen  as  long  as 
they  lived.  What  good  did  my  Rose  and  my  Ring  do  these 
two  women  ?  None  on  earth.  From  having  all  their  whims 
indulged  by  their  husbands,  they  became  capricious,  lazy,  ill- 
humored,  absurdly  vain,  and  leered  and  languished,  and  fancied 
themselves  irresistibly  beautiful,  when  they  were  really  quite 
old  and  hideous,  the  ridiculous  creatures  !  They  used  actually 
to  patronize  me  when  I  went  to  pay  them  a  visit ; — ?«<?,  the 
Fairy  Blackstick,  who  knows  all  the  wisdom  of  the  necroman- 
cers, and  who  could  have  turned  them  into  baboons,  and  all 
their  diamonds  into  strings  of  onions,  by  a  single  wave  of  my 
rod  !  "  So  she  locked  up  her  books  in  her  cupboard,  declined 
further  magical  performances,  and  scarcely  used  her  wand  at 
all  except  as  cane  to  walk  about  with. 

So  when  Duke  Padella's  lady  had  a  little  son  (the  Duke 
was  at  that  time  only  one  of  the  principal  noblemen  in  Crim 
Tartary),  Blackstick,  although  invited  to  the  christening,  would 
not  so  much  as  attend  ;  but  merely  sent  her  compliments  and 
a  silver  papboat  for  the  baby,  which  was  really  not  worth 
a  couple  of  guineas.  About  the  same  time  the  Queen  of  Pafla- 
gonia  presented  his  Majesty  with  a  son  and  heir ;  and  guns 
were  fired,  the  capital  illuminated,  and  no  end  of  feasts  or- 
dained to  celebrate  the  young  prince's  birth.  It  was  thought 
the  Fairy,  who  was  asked  to  be  his  godmother,  would  at  least 
have  presented  him  with  an  invisible  jacket,  a  flying  horse,  a 
Fortunatus's  purse,  or  some  other  valuable  token  of  her  favor; 
but  instead^  Blackstick  went  up  to  the  cradle  ot  the  child 
GigliO,  when  everybody  was  admiring  him  and  complimenting 
Ms  royal  papa  and  mamma,  and  said,  "  My  poor  child,  the  best 


176  THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 

thing  I  can  send  you  is  a  little  9!iis/ortime ;"  and  this  \vas  all 
she  would  utter,  to  the  disgust  of  Giglio's  parents,  who  died 
very  soon  after ;  when  Giglio's  uncle  took  the  throne,  as  we 
read  in  Chapter  I. 

In  like  manner,  when  Cavolfiore,  King  of  Crim  Tartary, 
liad  a  christening  of  his  only  child,  Rosalba,  the  Fairy  Black- 
stick,  who  had  been  invited,  was  not  more  gracious  than  in 
Prince  Giglio's  case.  Whilst  everybody  was  expatiating  over 
She  beauty  of  the  darling  child,  and  congratulating  its  parents, 
the  Fairy  Blackstick  looked  very  sadly  at  the  baby  and  its 
mother,  and  said,  "  My  good  woman  " — (for  the  Fairy  was  very 
familiar,  and  no  more  minded  a  queen  than  a  washerwoman) 
— "my  good  woman,  these  people  who  are  following  you  will  be 
the  first  to  turn  against  you  ;  and,  as  for  this  little  lady,  the 
best  thing  I  can  wish  her  is  a  little misfortuncy  So  she  touched 
Rosalba  with  her  black  wand,  looked  severely  at  the  courtiers, 
motioned  the  Queen  an  adieu  with  her  hand,  and  sailed  slowly 
up  into  the  air  out  of  window. 

When  she  was  gone,  the  Court  people,  who  had  been  awed 
and  silent  in  her  presence,  began  to  speak.  What  an  odious 
Fairy  she  is,"  they  said, — "a  pretty  fairy,  indeed  !  Why,  she 
went  to  the  King  of  Paflagonia's  christening,  and  pretended 
to  do  all  sorts  of  things  for  that  family ;  and  what  has  hap- 
pened— the  Prince  her  godson  has  been  turned  off  his  throne 
by  his  uncle.  Would  we  allow  our  sweet  Princess  to  be  de- 
prived of  her  rights  by  any  enemy  ?  Never,  never,  never, 
never !  " 

And  they  all  shouted  in  a  chorus,  "  Never,  never,  never, 
never ! " 

Now,  I  should  like  to  know  how  did  these  fine  courtiers 
show  their  fidelity  ?  One  6f  King  Cavolfiore's  vassals,  the 
Duke  Padella  just  mentioned,  rebelled  against  the  King,  who 
went  out  to  chastise  his  rebellious  subject.  "  Any  one  rebel 
against  our  beloved  and  august  Monarch  !  "  cried  the  courtiers  ; 
"  any  one  resist  hitn !  Pooh  !  He  is  invincible,  irresistible. 
He  will  bring  home  Padella  a  prisoner,  and  tie  him  to  a  don- 
key's tail,  and  drive  him  round  the  town,  saying,  '  This  is  the 
way  the  great  Cavolfiore  treats  rebels.'  " 

The  King  went  forth  to  vanquish  Padella ;  and  the  poor 
Queen,  who  was  a  very  timid,  anxious  creature,  grew  so  fright- 
ened and  ill,  that  1  am  sorry  to  say  she  died  ;  leaving  injunctions 
with  her  ladies  to  take  care  of  the  dear  little  Rosalba.  Of 
course  they  said  they  would.  Of  course  they  vowed  they  would 
die  rather  than   any  harm  should  happen  to  the  Princess.     At 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING.  177 

first  the  Crim  Tartar  Court  yournal  stated  that  the  King  was 
obtaining  great  victories  over  the  audacious  rebel :  then  it  was- 
announced  that  the  troops  of  the  infamous  Padella  were  in 
flight :  then  it  was  said  that  the  royal  army  would  soon  come 
up  with  the  enemy,  and  then — then  the  news  came  that  King 
Cavolfiore  was  vanquished  and  slain  by  his  Majesty,  King 
Padella  the  First ! 

At  this  news,  half  the  courtiers  ran  off  to  pay  their  duty  to 
the  conquering  chief,  and  the  other  half  ran  away,  laying  hands 
on  all  the  best  articles  in  the  palace  ;  and  poor  little  Rosalba 
was  left  there  quite  alone — quite  alone  :  she  toddled  from  one 
room  to  another,  crying,  "  Countess  !  Duchess  !  "  (only  she 
said  "  Tountess,  Duttess,"  not  being  able  to  speak  plain) 
"  bring  me  my  mutton-sop ;  my  Royal  Highness  hungry  \ 
Tountess  !  Duttess  !  "  And  she  went  from  the  private  apart- 
ments into  the  throne-room,  and  nobody  was  there ; — and 
thence  into  the  ball-room,  and  nobody  was  there  ; — and  thence 
into  the  pages'  room,  and  nobody  was  there ; — and  she  toddled 
down  the  great  staircase  into  the  hall,  and  nobody  was  there ; 
— and  the  door  was  open,  and  she  went  into  the  court,  and 
into  the  garden,  and  thence  into  the  wilderness,  and  thence 
into  the  forest  where  the  wild  beasts  live  and  was  never  heard 
of  any  more  ! 

A  piece  of  her  torn  mantle  and  one  of  her  shoes  were 
found  in  the  wood  in  the  mouths  of  two  lioness's  cubs,  whom 
King  Padella  and  a  royal  hunting-party  shot — for  he  was 
King  now,  and  reigned  over  Crim  Tartary.  "  So  the  poor 
little  Princess  is  done  for,"  said  he.  "  Well,  what's  done  can't 
be  helped.  Gentlemen,  let  us  go  to  luncheon  !  "  And  one  of 
the  courtiers  took  up  the  shoe  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  And 
there  was  an  end  of  Rosalba ! 


IV. 

HOW    BLACKSTICK  WAS  NOT  ASKED  TO   THE    PRINCESS  ANGELICA'S 
CHRISTENING. 

When  the  Princess  Angelica  was  born,  her  parents  not 
only  did  not  ask  the  Fairy  Blackstick  to  the  christening  party, 
but  gave  orders  to  their  porter,  absolutely  to  refuse  her  if  she 


178  THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 

called.  This  porter's  name  was  Gruffanuff,  and  he  had  been 
selected  for  the  post  by  their  Royal  Highnesses  because  he  was 
a  very  tall  fierce  man,  who  could  say  "  Not  at  home "  to  a 
tradesman  or  an  unwelcome  visitor  with  a  rudeness  which 
frightened  most  such  persons  away.  He  was  the  husband  of 
that  Countess  whose  picture  we  have  just  seen,  and  as  long  as 
they  were  together  they  quarrelled  from  morning  till  night. 
Now  this  fellow  tried  his  rudeness  once  too  often,  as  you  shall 
hear.  For  the  Fairy  Blackstick  coming  to  call  upon  the  Prince 
and  Princess,  who  were  actually  sitting  at  the  open  drawing- 
room  window,  Gruffanuff  not  only  denied  them,  but  made  the 
most  odious  7'iilgar  sign  as  he  was  going  to  slam  the  door  in  the 
Fairy's  face!  "Git  away,  hold  Blackstick!"  said  he.  "I 
tell  you.  Master  and  Missis  ain't  at  home  to  you  :  "  and  he  was, 
as  we  have  said,  going  to  slam  the  door. 

But  the  Fairy,  with  her  wand,  prevented  the  door  being 
shut ;  and  Gruffanuff  came  out  again  in  a  fury,  swearing  in  the 
most  abominable  way,  and  asking  the  Fairy  "  whether  she 
thought  he  was  a-going  to  stay  at  that  there  door  hall  day  ?  " 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  at  that  door  all  day  and  all  night, 
and  for  many  a  long  year,"  the  Fairy  said,  very  majestically ; 
and  Gruffanuff,  coming  out  of  the  door,  straddling  before  it 
with  his  great  calves,  burst  out  laughing,  and  cried  "  Ha,  ha, 
ha  !  this  is  a  good  'un  !  Ha — ah — what's  this  ?  Let  me  down 
— oh — o — h'm  !  "  and  then  he  was  dumb  ! 

For,  as  the  Fairy  waved  her  wand  over  him,  he  felt  himself 
rising  off  the  ground  and  fluttering  up  against  the  door,  and 
then,  as  if  a  screw  ran  into  his  stomach,  he  felt  a  dreadful  pain 
there,  and  was  pinned  to  the  door ;  and  then  his  arms  flew  up 
over  his  head  ;  and  his  legs,  after  writhing  about  wildly,  twisted 
under  his  body  ;  and  he  felt  cold,  cold  growing  over  him,  as  if 
he  was  turning  into  metal  ;  and  he  said,  "Oh — o — h'm  !  "  and 
could  say  no  more,  because  he  was  dumb. 

He  tvas  turned  into  metal !  He  was  from  being  brazen, 
brass  !  He  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  knocker  !  And 
there  he  was,  nailed  to  the  door  in  the  blazing  summer  day, 
till  he  burned  almost  red  hot ;  and  there  he  was,  nailed  to  the 
door  all  the  bitter  winter  nights,  till  his  brass  nose  was  drop- 
ping with  icicles.  And  the  postman  came  and  rapped  at  him, 
and  the  vulgarest  boy  with  a  letter  came  and  hit  him  up  against 
the  door.  And  the  King  and  Queen  (Princess  and  Prince  they 
were  then)  coming  home  from  a  walk  that  evening,  the  King 
said,  "  Hullo,  my  dear  I  you  have  had  a  new  knocker  put  on 
the  door.     Why,  it's  rather  like  our  Porter  in  the  face  !     What 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


179 


has  become  of  that  boozy  vagabond  ? "  And  the  housemaid 
came  and  scrubbed  his  nose  with  sandpaper  ;  and  once,  when 
the  Princess  Angelica's  Uttle  sister  was  born,  he  was  tied  up  in 
an  old  kid-glove  ;  and  another  night  some  larking  young  men 
tried  to  wrench  him  off,  and  put  him  to  the  most  excruciating 
agony  with  a  turnscrew.  And  then  the  Queen  had  a  fancy  to 
have  the  color  of  the  door  altered,  and  the  painters  dabbed  him 
over  the  mouth  and  eyes  and  nearly  choked  him,  as  they  painted 
him  pea-green.  I  warrant  he  had  leisure  to  repent  of  having 
been  rude  to  the  Fairy  Blackstick ! 

As  for  his  w'ife,  she  did  not  miss  him  ;  and  as  he  was  always 
guzzling  beer  at  the  public-house,  and  notoriously  quarrelling 
with  his  wife,  and  in  debt  to  the  tradesmen,  it  was  supposed  he 
had  run  away  from  all  these  evils,  and  emigrated  to  Australia 
or  America.  And  when  the  Princess  chose  to  become  King 
and  Queen,  they  left  their  old  house,  and  nobody  thought  of 
the  Porter  anv  more. 


V. 

HOW  PRINCESS    ANGELICA    TOOK    A    LITTLE    MAID. 

One  day,  when  the  Princess  Angelica  was  quite  a  little  gir  , 
she  ^vas  walking  in  the  garden  of  the  palace,  with  Mrs.  Gruft- 
anuff,  the  governess,  holding  a  parasol  over  her  head,  to  keep 
her  sweet  complexion  from  the  freckles,  and  Angelica  was  carry- 
ing a  bun,  to  feed  the  swans  and  ducks  in  the  royal  pond. 

They  had  not  reached  the  duck-pond,  when  there  came 
toddling  up  to  them  such  a  funny  little  girl.  She  had  a  great 
quantity  of  hair  blowing  about  her  chubby  little  cheeks,  and 
looked  as  if  she  had  not  been  washed  or  combed  for  ever  so 
long.  She  wore  a  ragged  bit  of  a  cloak,  and  had  only  one 
shoe  on. 

"  You  little  wretch,  who  let  you  in  here  ?  "  asked  Gruff- 
anufif, 

"  Dive  me  dat  bun,''  said  the  little  girl,  "  me  vely  hungy." 

"  Hungry  !  what  is  that  ?  "  asked  Princess  Angelica,  and 
jrave  the  child  the  bun. 

"  Ohj   Princess.'"  says  Gruffanuff,   "how  good,  how  kind, 

12* 


l8o  THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 

how  truly  angelical  you  are  !  See.  your  Majesties,''  she  said 
to  the  King  and  Queen,  who  now  came  up,  along  with  their 
nephew.  Prince  Giglio,  "  how  kind  the  Princess  is  !  She  met 
this  little  dirty  wretch  in  the  garden — I  can't  tell  how  she  came 
in  here,  or  why  the  guards  did  not  shoot  her  dead  at  the 
gate  ! — and  the  dear  darling  of  a  Princess  has  given  her  the 
whole  of  her  bun  !  " 

"  I  didn't  want  it,"  said  Angelica. 

"  But  you  are  a  darling  little  angel  all  the  same,"  says  the 
governess. 

"  Yes  j  I  know  I  am,"  said  Angelica.  "Dirty  little  girl, 
don't  you  think  I  am  very  pretty  ?  "  Indeed,  she  had  on  the 
finest  of  little  dresses  and  hats  •  and  as  her  hair  was  carefully 
curled,  she  really  looked  very  well. 

"  Oh,  pooty,  pooty !  "  says  the  little  girl,  capering  about, 
laughing  and  dancing,  and  mimching  her  bun  ;  and  as  she  ate 
it  she  began  to  sing,  "  O  what  fun  to  have  a  plum  bun  !  how  I 
wis  it  never  was  done  !  "  At  which,  and  her  funny  accent, 
Angelica,  Giglio,  and  the  King  and  Queen  began  to  laugh  very 
merrily. 

"  I  can  dance  as  well  as  sing,"  says  the  little  girl.  "  I  can 
dance,  and  I  can  sing,  and  I  can  do  all  sorts  of  ting."  And  she 
ran  to  a  ilower-bed,  and  pulling  a  few  polyanthuses,  rhododen- 
drons, and  other  flowers,  made  herself  a  little  wreath,  and 
danced  before  the  King  and  Queen  so  drolly  and  prettily,  that 
everybody  was  delighted. 

"  Who  was  your  mother — who  were  your  relations,  little 
girl  ?  "  said  the  Queen. 

The  little  girl  said,  "  Little  lion  was  my  brudder ;  great  big 
lioness  my  mudder ;  neber  heard  of  any  udder."  And  she 
capered  away  on  her  one  shoe,  and  everybody  was  exceedingly 
diverted. 

So  Angelica  said  to  the  Queen,  "  Mamma,  my  parrot  flew 
away  yesterday  out  of  its  cage,  and  I  don't  care  any  more  for 
any  of  my  toys  ;  and  I  think  this  funny  little  dirty  child  will 
amuse  me.  I  will  take  her  home,  and  give  her  some  of  mv  old 
frocks " 

"  Oh,  the  generous  darling  !  "  says  Gruffanuff. 

" — Which  I  have  worn  ever  so  many  times  and  am  quite 
tired  of,"  Angelica  went  on;  "  and  she  shall  be  my  little  maid,. 
Will  you  come  home  with  me,  little  dirty  girl  ?  " 

The  child  clapped  her  hands  and  said,  "  Go  home  with  you 
— yes !  You  pooty  Princess  !  Have  a  nice  dinner,  and  weal 
a  new  dress  !  " 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING..  i8i 

And  they  all  laughed  again,  and  took  home  the  child  to  the 
palace  ;  where,  when  she  washed  and  combed,  and  had  one  of 
the  Princess's  frocks  given  to  her,  she  looked  as  handsome  as 
Angelica,  almost.  Not  that  Angelica  ever  thought  so  ;  for  this 
little  lady  never  imagined  that  anybody  in  the  world  could  be 
as  pretty,  as  good,  or  as  clever  as  herself.  In  order  that  the 
little  girl  should  not  become  too  proud  and  conceited,  Mrs. 
Gruffanuff  took  her  old  ragged  mantle  and  one  shoe,  and  put 
them  into  a  glass  box,  with  a  card  laid  upon  them,  upon  which 
was  written,  "  These  were  the  old  clothes  in  which  little  Bet- 
siNDA  was  found  when  the  great  goodness  and  admirable  kind- 
ness of  her  Royal  Highness  the  Princess  Angelica  received  this 
little  outcast."     And  the  date  was  added,  and  the  box  locked 

For  a  while  little  Betsinda  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  Prni- 
cess,  and  she  danced,  and  sang,  and  made  her  little  rhymes,  to 
amuse  her  mistress.  But  then  the  Princess  got  a  monkey,  and 
afterwards  a  little  dog,  and  afterwards  a  doll,  and  did  not  care 
for  Betsinda  any  more,  who  became  very  melancholy  and  quiet, 
and  sang  no  more  funny  songs,  because  nobody  cared  to  hear 
her.  And  then,  as  she  grew  older,  she  was  made  a  little  lady's- 
maid  to  the  Princess ;  and  though  she  had  no  wages,  she 
worked  and  mended,  and  put  Angelica's  hair  in  papers,  and 
was  never  cross  when  scolded,  and  was  always  eager  to  please 
her  mistress,  and  was  always  up  earfy  and  to  bed  late,  and  at 
hand  when  wanted,  and  in  fact  became  a  perfect  little  maid. 
So  the  two  girls  grew  up,  and,  when  the  Princess  came  out, 
Betsinda  was  never  tired  of  waiting  on  her ;  and  made  her 
dresses  better  than  the  best  milliner,  and  was  useful  in  a  hun- 
dred ways.  Whilst  the  Princess  was  having  her  masters,  Betsinda 
would  sit  and  watch  them  ;  and  in  this  way  she  picked  up  a 
great  deal  of  learning  ;  for  she  was  always  awake,  though  her 
mistress  was  not,  and  listened  to  the  wise  professors  when  An- 
gelica was  yav/ning  or  thinking  of  the  next  ball.  And  when  the 
dancing-master  came,  Betsinda  learned  along  with  Angelica; 
•and  when  the  music-master  came,  she  watched  him,  and  prac- 
tised the  Princess's  pieces  when  Angelica  was  away  at  balls  and 
parties  ;  and  when  the  drawing-master  came,  she  took  note  of 
all  he  said  and  did  ;  and  the  same  with  French,  Italian,  and  all 
other  languages — she  learned  them  from  the  teacher  who  came 
to  Angelica.  When  the  Princess  was  going  out  of  an  evening 
she  would  say,  "  My  good  Betsinda,  you  may  as  well  finish  what 
I  have  begun."  "  Yes,  Miss,"  Betsinda  would  say,  and  sit  down 
very  cheerful,  not  to  finish  what  Angelica  began,  but  to  do  it. 


I82 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


For  instance,  the  Princes  ^  would  begin  the  head  of  a  warrioi 
let  us  say,  and  when  it  was  begun  it  was  something  like  this : 


^> 


Rut  when  it  was  done,  the  warrior  was  like  this : — 


(only  handsomer  still  if  possible,)  and  the  Princess  put  hei 
name  to  the  drawing ;  and  the  Court  and  King  and  Queen,  and 
above  all  poor  Giglio,  admired  the  picture  of  all  things,  and 
said,  "  Was  there  ever  a  genius  like  Angelica  ?  "  So,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  was  it  with  the  Princess's  embroidery  and  other 
accomplishments  ;  and  Angelica  actually  believed  that  she  did 
these  things  herself,  and  received  all  the  flattery  of  the  Court, 
as  if  every  word  of  it  was  true.  Thus  she  began  to  think  that 
there  was  no  young  woman  in  all  the  world  equal  to  herself,  and 
that  no  young  man  was  good  enough  for  her.  As  for  Betsinda, 
as  she  heard  none  of  these  praises,  she  was  not  puffed  up  by 
them,  and  being  a  most  grateful,  good-natured  girl,  she  was 
only  too  anxious  to  do  everything  which  might  give  her  mistress 
pleasure.  Now  you  begin  to  perceive  that  Angelica  had  faults 
of  her  own,  and  was  by  no  means  such  ?.  wonder  oi  o;oudcic  J,j 
people  represented  her  Royai  Highness  to  be. 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING.  \%7^ 


VI. 

HOW    PRINCE    GIGLIO    BEHAVED    HIMSELF. 

And  now  let  us  speak  about  prince  Giglio,  the  nephew  ol 
the  reigning  monarch  of  Paflagonia.  It  has  already  been 
stated,  in  chapter  2,  that  as  long  as  he  had  a  smart  coat  to 
wear,  a  good  horse  to  ride,  and  money  in  his  pocket — or  rather 
to  take  out  of  his  pocket,  for  he  was  very  good-natured — my 
young  Prince  did  not  care  for  the  loss  of  his  crown  and  sceptre, 
being  a  thoughtless  youth,  not  much  inclined  to  politics  or  any 
kind  of  learning.  So  his  tutor  had  a  sinecure.  Giglio  would 
iiot  learn  classics  or  mathematics,  and  the  Lord  Chancellor  of 
Paflagonia,  Squaretoso,  pulled  a  very  long  face  because  the 
Prince  could  not  be  got  to  study  the  Paflagonian  laws  and 
constitution  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  King's  gam'ekeepers 
and  huntsmen  found  the  Prince  an  apt  pupil  ;  the  dancing- 
master  pronounced  that  he  was  a  most  elegant  and  assiduous 
scholar  ;  the  First  Lord  of  the  Billiard  Table  gave  the  most 
flattering  reports  of  the  Prince's  skill ;  so  did  the  Groom  of 
the  Tennis  Court ;  and  as  for  the  Captain  of  the  Guard  and 
Fencing-master,  the  valiant  and  veteran  Count  Kutasoff  Hed- 
ZOFF,  he  avowed  that  since  he  ran  the  General  of  Crim  Tartary, 
the  dreadful  Grumbuskin,  through  the  body,  he  never  had  en- 
countered so  expert  a  swordsman  as  Prince  Giglio. 

I  hope  you  do  not  imagine  that  there  was  any  impropriety 
in  the  Prince  and  Princess  walking  together  in  the  palace 
garden,  and  because  Giglio  kissed  Angelica's  hand  in  a  polite 
manner.  In  the  first  place  they  are  cousins  ;  next,  the  Queen 
is  walking  in  the  garden  too  (you  cannot  see  her,  for  she  hap- 
pens to  be  behind  that  tree),  and  her  Majesty  always  wished 
that  Angelica  and  Giglio  should  marry :  so  did  Giglio  :  so  did 
Angelica  sometimes,  for  she  thought  her  coushi  very  handsome, 
brave,  and  good-natured  :  but  then  you  know  she  was  so  clever 
and  knew  so  many  things,  and  poor  Giglio  knew  nothing,  and 
had  no  conversation.  When  they  looked  at  the  stars,  what  did 
Giglio  know  of  the  heavenly  bodies  ?  Once,  when  on  a  sweet 
night  in  a  balcony  where  they  were  standing  Angelica  said, 
"  There  is  the  Bear  " — "  Where  ?  "  says  Giglio.  "  Don't  be 
afraid,  Angelica  !  if  a  dozen  bears  come,  I  will  kill  them  rathel 


1 54 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


than  they  shall  hurt  you."  "  Oh,  you  silly  creature  !  "  says 
she:  "you  are  very  good,  but  you  are  not  very  wise."  When 
they  looked  at  the  flowers,  Giglio  was  utterly  unacquainted 
with  botany,  and  had  never  heard  of  Linnaeus.  When  the 
butterflies  passed,  Giglio  knew  nothing  about  them,  being  aa 
ignorant  of  entomology  as  I  am  of  algebra.     So  you  see,  An- 


f;'elica,  though  she  liked  Giglio  pretty  well,  despised  him  on 
account  of  his  ignorance.  I  think  she  probably  valued  her  own 
kariiing  rather  too  much  ;  but  to  think  too  well  of  one's  self  is 
the  fault  of  people  of  all  ages  and  both  sexes.  Finally,  when 
nobody  else  was  there,  Angelica  liked  her  cousin  well  enough. 
King  Valoroso  was  very  delicate  in  health,  and  withal  so 
fond  of  good  dinners  (which  were  prepared  for  him  by  his 
French  cook,  Marmitonio,  that  it  was  supposed  he  could  not 
live  long.  Now  the  idea  of  anything  happening  to  the  King 
struck  the  artful  Prime  Minister  and  the  designing  old  lady-in- 
waiting  with  terror.     For,  thought  Glumboso  and  the  Countess, 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


185 


"  when  Prince  Giglio  marries  his  cousin  and  comes  to  the 
throne,  what  a  pretty  position  we  shall  be  in,  whom  he  dislikes, 
and  who  have  always  been  unkind  to  him.  We  shall  lose  our 
places  in  a  trice  ;  Gruffanuff  will  have  to  give  up  all  the  jewels, 
laces,  snuff-boxes,  rings,  and  watches  which  belonged  to  the 
Queen,  Giglio's  mother;  and  Glumboso  will  be  forced  to  refund 
two  hundred  and  seventeen  thousand  millions,  nine  hundred 
and  eighty-seven  thousand,  four  hundred  and  thirty-nine  pounds 
thirteen  shillings  and  sixpence  halfpenny,  money  left  to  Prince 
Giglio  by  his  poor  dear  father."  So  the  Lady  of  Honor  and 
the  Prime  Minister  hated  Giglio  because  they  had  done  him  a 
wrong ;  and  these  unprincipled  people  invented  a  hundred  cruel 
stories  about  poor  Giglio,  in  order  to  influence  the  King,  Queen 
and  Princess  against  him :  how  he  was  so  ignorant  that  he 
could  not  spell  the  commonest  words,  and  actually  wrote  Valo- 
roso  Valloroso,  and  spelt  Angelica  with  two  /'s  ;  how  he  drank 
a  great  deal  too  much  wine  at  dinner,  and  was  always  idling  in 
the  stables  with  the  grooms  ;  how  he  owed  ever  so  much  money 
at  the  pastry-cook's  and  the  haberdasher's  ;  how  he  used  to  go 
to  sleep  at  church  ;  how  he  was  fond  of  playing  cards  with  the 
pages.  So  did  the  Queen  like  playing  cards  ;  so  did  the  King 
go  to  sleep  at  church,  and  eat  and  drink  too  much  ;  and,  if 
Giglio  owed  a  trifle  for  tarts,  who  owed  him  two  hundred  and 
seventeen  thousand  millions,  nine  hundred  and  eighty-seven 
thousand,  four  hundred  and  thirty-nine  pounds  thirteen  shillings 
and  sixpence  halfpenny,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  Detractors 
and  tale-bearers  (in  my  humble  opinion)  had  much  better  look 
at  home.  All  this  back-biting  and  slandering  had  effect  upon 
Princess  Angelica,  who  began  to  look  coldly  on  her  cousin, 
then  to  laugh  at  him  and  scorn  him  for  being  so  stupid,  then  to 
sneer  at  him  for  having  vulgar  associates  ;  and  at  Court  balls, 
dinners,  and  so  forth,  to  treat  him  so  unkindly  that  poor  Giglio 
became  quite  ill,  took  to  his  bed,  and  sent  for  the  doctor. 

His  Majesty  King  Valoroso,  as  we  have  seen,  had  his  own 
reasons  for  disliking  his  nephew  ;  and  as  for  those  innocent 
readers  who  ask  why  ? — I  beg  (with  the  permission  of  their 
dear  parents)  to  refer  them  to  Shakspeare's  pages,  where  they 
will  read  why  King  John  disliked  Prince  Arthur,  With  the 
Queen,  his  royal  but  weak-minded  aunt,  when  Giglio  was  out 
of  sight  he  was  out  of  mind.  While  she  had  her  whist  and  her 
evening-parties,  she  cared  for  little  else. 

I  dare  say  htw  villains,  who  shall  be  nameless,  wished  Doc- 
tor Pildrafto,  the  Court  Physician,  had  killed  Giglio  right  out, 
but  he  only  bled  and  physicked  him  so  severely,  that  the  Prince 


1 86  THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 

was  kept  to  his  room  for  several  months,  and  grew  as  thin  as 
a  post. 

Whilst  he  was  lying  sick  in  this  way,  there  came  to  the 
Court  of  Paflagonia  a  famous  painter,  whose  name  was  1  omaso 
Lorenzo,  and  who  was  Painter  in  Ordinary  to  the  King  of 
Crim  Tartary,  Paflagonia's  neighbor.  Tomaso  Lorenzo  painted 
all  the  Court,  who  were  delighted  with  his  works  ;  for  even 
Countess  Gruffanuff  looked  young  and  Glumboso  good-humored 
in  his  pictures,  "  He  flatters  very  much,"  some  people  said. 
"  Nay  !  "  says  Princess  Angelica,  "  I  am  above  flattery,  and  I 
think  he  did  not  make  my  picture  handsome  enough.  I  can't 
bear  to  hear  a  man  of  genius  unjustly  cried  down,  and  I  hope 
my  dear  papa  will  make  Lorenzo  a  knight  of  his  Order  of  the 
Cucumber." 

The  Princess  Angelica,  although  the  courtiers  vowed  her 
Royal  Highness  could  draw  so  beautifully  that  the  idea  of  her 
taking  lessons  was  absurd,  yet  chose  to  have  Lorenzo  for  a 
teacher,  and  it  was  wonderful,  as  long  as  she  painted  in  his 
studio,  what  beautiful  pictures  she  made  !  Some  of  the  per- 
formances were  engraved  for  the  "  Book  of  Beauty  : "  others 
were  sold  for  enormous  sums  at  Charity  Bazaars.  She  wrote 
the  signatures  under  the  drawings,  no  doubt,  but  I  think  1 
know  who  did  the  pictures— this  artful  painter,  who  had  come 
with  other  designs  on  Angelica  than  merely  to  teach  her  to 
draw. 

One  day  Lorenzo  showed  the  Princess  a  portrait  of  a  young 
man  in  armor,  with  fair  hair  and  the  loveliest  blue  eyes,  and 
an  expression  at  once  melancholy  and  interesting. 

"  Dear  Signor  Lorenzo,  who  is  this  ?  "  asked  the  Princess. 
"  I  never  saw  any  one  so  handsome,"  says  Countess  Gruffanuff 
(the  old  humbug). 

"That,"  said  the  Painter,  "that,  madam,  is  the  portrait  of 
my  august  young  master,  his  Royal  Highness  Bulbo,  Crown 
Prince  of  Crim  "^^Partary,  Duke  of  Acroceraunia,  Marquis  of 
Poluphloisboio,  and  Knight  Grand  Cross  of  the  Order  of  the 
Pumpkin.  That  is  the  Order  of  the  Pumpkin  glittering  on  his 
manly  breast,  and  received  by  his  Royal  Highness  from  his 
august  father,  his  Majesty  King  Padella  L,  for  his  gallantry 
at  the  battle  of  Rimbombamento,  when  he  slew  with  his  own 
princely  hand  the  King  of  Ograria  and  two  hundred  and  eleven 
giants  of  the  two  hundred  and  eighteen  who  formed  the  King's 
body-guard.  The  remainder  were  destroyed  by  the  brave  Crim 
Tartar  army  after  an  obstinate  combat,  in  which  the  Crim  Tar- 
tars suffered  severely." 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING.  1 87 

"  What  a  Prince  !  "  thought  Angelica  :  "  so  brave — so  calm- 
looking — so  young — what  a  hero  !  " 

"_He  is  as  accomplished  as  he  is  brave,"  continued  the 
Court  Painter.  "  He  knows  all  languages  perfectly  :  sings 
deliciously  :  plays  every  instrument :  composes  operas  which 
have  been  acted  a  thousand  nights  running  at  the  Imperial 
Theatre  of  Crim  Tartary,  and  danced  in  a  ballet  there  before 
the  King  and  Queen  ;  in  which  he  looked  so  beautiful,  that  his 
cousin,  the  lovely  daughter  of  the  King  of  Circassia,  died  for 
love  of  him." 

"  Why  did  he  not  marry  the  poor  Princess  ?  "  asked  An- 
gelica, with  a  sigh. 

"  Because  they  were  first-cousins,  madam,  and  the  clergy 
forbid  these  unions,"  said  the  Painter.  "  And,  besides,  the 
young  Prince  had  given  his  royal  heart  elsewhere'^ 

"And  to  whom  ?  "  asked  her  Royal  Highness. 

"  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  mention  the  Princess's  name," 
answered  the  Painter. 

"But  you  may  tell  me  the  first  letter  of  it,"  gasped  out  the 
Princess. 

"That  your  Royal  Highness  is  at  liberty  to  guess,"  says 
Lorenzo. 

"  Does  it  begin  with  a  Z  ?  "  asked  Angelica. 

The  Painter  said  it  wasn't  a  Z  ;  then  she  tried  a  Y  ;  then 
an  X  ;  then  a  W,  and  went  so  backwards  through  almost  the 
whole  alphabet. 

When  she  came  to  D,  and  it  wasn't  D,  she  grew  very  much 
excited  ;  when  she  came  to  C,  and  it  wasn't  C,  she  was  still 
more  nervous  ;  when  she  came  to  B,  and  it  wasn't  B,  "  Oh, 
dearest  Gruffanuff,"  she  said,  "  lend  me  your  smelling-bottle  !  " 
and,  hiding  her  head  in  the  Countess's  shoulder,  she  faintly 
whispered,  "  Ah,  Signor,  can  it  be  A  ?  " 

"  It  was  A  ;  and  though  I  may  not,  by  my  Royal  Master's 
orders,  tell  your  Royal  Highness  the  Princess's  name,  whom 
he  fondly,  madly,  devotedly,  rapturously  loves,  I  may  show  you 
her  portrait,"  says  the  slyboots  :  and  leading  the  Princess  up 
to  a  gilt  frame,  he  drew  a  curtain  which  was  before  it. 

O  goodness  !  the  frame  contained  a  looking-glass  !  and 
Angelica  saw  her  own  face  ! 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


VII. 
HOW    GIGLIO    AND    ANGELICA    HAD    A    QUARREL. 

The  Court  Painter  of  his  Majesty  the  King  of  Crim  Tar 
iaiy  returned  to  that  monarch's  dominions,  carrying  away  a 
number  of  sketches  which  he  had  made  in  the  Paflagonian 
capital  (you  know  of  course,  my  dears,  that  the  name  of  that 
capital  is  Blombodinga)  ;  but  the  most  charming  of  all  his 
pieces  was  a  portrait  of  the  Princess  Angelica,  which  all  the 
Crim  Tartar  nobles  came  to  see.  With  this  work  the  King 
was  so  delighted,  that  he  decorated  the  Painter  with  his  Order 
of  the  Pumpkin  (sixth  class),  and  the  artist  became  Sir  Tomaso 
Lorenzo,  K.  P.,  thenceforth. 

King  Valoroso  also  sent  Sir  Tomaso  his  Order  of  the 
Cucumber,  besides  a  handsome  order  for  money  ;  for  he 
painted  the  King,  Queen,  and  principal  nobility  while  at  Blom 
bodinga,  and  became  all  the  fashion,  to  the  perfect  rage  of  al! 
the  artists  in  Paflagonia,  where  the  King  used  to  point  to  the 
portrait  of  Prince  Bulbo,  which  Sir  Tomaso  had  left  behind 
him,  and  say,  "  Which  among  you  can  paint  a  picture  like 
that?" 

It  hung  in  the  royal  parlor  over  the  royal  sideboard,  and 
Princess  Angelica  could  always  look  at  it  as  she  sat  making 
the  tea.  Each  day  it  seemed  to  grow  handsomer  and  hand- 
somer, and  the  Princess  grew  so  fond  of  looking  at  it,  that  she 
would  often  spill  the  tea  over  the  cloth,  at  which  her  father 
and  mother  would  wink  and  wag  their  heads  ;  and  say  to  each 
other,  "Aha!  we  see  how  things  are  going." 

In  the  meanwhile  poor  Giglio  lay  up  stairs  very  sick  in  his 
chamber,  though  he  took  all'the  Doctor's  horrible  medicines 
like  a  good  young  lad  :  as  I  hope  you  do,  my  dears,  when  you 
are  ill  and  mamma  sends  for  the  medical  man.  And  the  only 
person  who  visited  Giglio  (besides  his  friend  the  Captain  of  the 
Guard,  who  was  almost  always  busy  or  on  parade)  was  little 
Betsinda  the  housemaid,  who  used  to  do  his  bedroom  and  sit- 
ting-room out,  bring  him  his  gruel,  and  warm  his  bed. 

When  the  little  housemaid  came  to  him  in  the  morning  and 
evening,  Prince  Giglio  used  to  say,  "  Betsinda,  Betsinda,  how 
is  the  Princess  Angelica  ? " 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


189 


And  Betsinda  used  to  answer,  "  The  Princess  is  very  well, 
thank  you,  my  lord."  And  Giglio  would  heave  a  sigh,  and 
think,  "  If  Angelica  were  sick  I  am  sure  /  should  not  be  very 
well." 

Then  Giglio  would  say,  "  Betsinda,  has  the  Princess  Angel- 
ica asked  for  me  to-day  ?"  And  Betsinda  would  answer,  "No, 
my  lord,  not  to-day ; "  or,  "  She  was  very  busy  practising  the 
piano  when  I  saw -her;"  or,  "She  was  writing  invitations  for 
an  evening-party,  and  did  not  speak  to  me  ; "  or  make  some 
excuse  or  other,  not  strictly  consonant  with  truth ;  for  Betsinda 
was  such  a  good-natured  creature,  that  she  strove  to  do  every- 
thing to  prevent  annoyance  to  Prince  Giglio,  and  even  brought 
him  up  roast  chicken  and  jellies  from  the  kitchen  (when  the 
Doctor  allowed  them,  and  Giglio  was  getting  better),  saying 
"  that  the  Princess  had  made  the  jelly,  or  the  bread-sauce,  with 
her  own  hands,  on  purpose  for  Giglio." 

When  Giglio  heard  this  he  took  heart,  and  began  to  mend 
immediately  ;  and  gobbled  up  all  the  jelly,  and  picked  the  last 
bone  of  the  chicken — drumsticks,  merry-thought,  sides'-bones, 
back,  pope's-nose,  and  all — thanking  his  dear  Angelica  :  and 
he  felt  so  much  better  the  next  day,  that  he  dressed  and  went 
down  stairs — where  whom  should  he  meet  but  Angelica  going 
into  the  drawing-room  ?  All  the  covers  were  off  the  chairs,  the 
chandeliers  taken  out  of  the  bags,  the  damask  curtains  uncov- 
ered, the  work  and  things  carried  away,  and  the  handsomest 
albums  on  the  tables.  Angelica  had  her  hair  in  papers.  In  a 
word,  it  was  evident  there  was  going  to  be  a  party. 

"Heavens,  Giglio!"  cries  Angelica:  '■'■you  here  in  such  a 
dress  !     What  a  figure  you  are  !  " 

"  Yes,  dear  Angelica,  I  am  come  down  stairs,  and  feel  so 
well  to-day,  thanks  to  the  foivl  and  the  Je/ly." 

"  What  do  I  know  about  fowls  and  jellies,  that  you  allude 
to  them  in  that  rude  way  ?  "  says  Angelica. 

"  Why,  didn't — didn't  you  send  them,  Angelica  dear  ?  "  says 
Giglio. 

"  I  send  them  indeed  !  Angelica  dear  !  No,  Giglio,  dear,'' 
says  she,  mocking  him.  "/was  engaged  in  getting  the  rooms 
ready  for  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Grim  Tartary,  who 
is  coming  to  pay  my  papa's  court  a  visit." 

"The — Prince — of — Grim — Tartary!  "    Giglio  said,  aghast. 

"  Yes,  the  Prince  of  Grim  Tartary,"  says  Angelica,  mocking 
him.  "  I  dare  say  you  never  heard  of  such  a  country.  What 
did  you  ever  hear  of  ?  You  don't  know  whether  Grim  Tartary 
is  on  the  Red  Sea  or  on  the  Black  Sea,  I  dare  say." 


igo 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


"  Yes,  I  do  :  it's  on  the  Red  Sea,"  says  Giglio  ;  at  which  the 
Princess  burst  out  laughing  at  him,  and  said,  "  Oh,  you  ninny  ! 
You  are  so  ignorant,  you  are  really  not  fit  for  society  !  You 
know  nothing  but  about  horses  and  dogs,  and  are  only  fit  to 
dine  in  a  mess-room  with  my  Royal  Father's  heaviest  dragoons. 
Don't  look  so  surprised  at  me,  sir:  go  and  put  your  best 
clothes  on  to  receive  the  Prince,  and  let  me  get  the  drawing- 
room  ready." 

Giglio  said,  "  Oh,  Angelica,  Angelica,  I  didn't  think  this  of 
you.  This  wasn't  your  language  to  me  when  you  gave  rne 
this  ring,  and  I  gave  you  mine  in  the  garden,  and  you  gave  me 
that  k — " 

But  what  k —  was  we  never  shall  know,  for  Angelica,  in  a 
rage,  cried,  "  Get  out,  you  saucy,  rude  creature  !  How  dare 
you  to  remind  me  of  your  rudeness  ?  As  for  your  little  trumpery 
twopenny  ring,  there,  sir — there  !  "  And  she  flung  it  out  of 
the  window. 

"  It  was  my  mother's  marriage-ring,"  cried  Giglio. 

*'  /  don't  care  whose  marriage-ring  it  was,"  cries  Angelica. 
"  Marry  the  person  who  picks  it  up  if  she's  a  woman  ;  you  sha'n't 
marry  inc.  And  give  me  back  my  ring.  I've  no  patience  with 
people  who  boast  about  the  things  they  give  away !  /  know 
who'll  give  me  much  finer  things  than  you  ever  gave  me.  A 
beggarly  ring  indeed,  not  worth  five  shillings  !  " 

Now  Angelica  little  knew  that  the  ring  which  Giglio  had 
given  her  was  a  fairy  ring;  if  a  man  wore  it,  it  made  all  the 
women  in  love  with  him  ;  if  a  woman,  all  the  gentlemen.  The 
Queen,  Giglio's  mother,  quite  an  ordinary-looking  person,  Vv^as 
admired  immensely  whilst  she  wore  this  ring,  and  her  husband 
was  frantic  when  she  was  ill.  But  when  she  called  her  little 
Giglio  to  her,  and  put  the  ring  on  his  finger.  King  Savio  did 
not  seem  to  care  for  his  wife  so  much  any  more,  but  transferred 
all  his  love  to  little  Giglio.  So  did  everybody  love  him  as  long 
as  he  had  the  ring  ;  but  when,  as  quite  a  child,  he  gave  it  to 
Angelica,  people  began  to  love  and  admire  her;  and  Giglio,  as 
the  saying  is,  played  only  second  fiddle. 

"  Yes,"  says  Angelica,  going  on  in  her  foolish  ungrateful 
way,  "/know  who'll  give  me  much  finer  things  than  your  beg- 
garly little  pearl  nonsense." 

"  Very  good,  miss  !  You  may  take  back  your  ring,  too  !  " 
says  Giglio,  his  eyes  flashing  fire  at  her ;  and  then,  as  if  his 
eyes  had  been  suddenly  opened,  he  cried  out,  "  Ha  !  what 
does  this  mean  ?  Is  this  the  woman  I  have  been  in  love  with 
all  my  life  ?     Have  I  been  such  a  ninny  as  to  throw  away  my 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


19V 


regard  upon  you  ?  Why  —  actually  —  yes  —  you  are  a  little 
crooked  !  " 

'•  Oh,  you  wretch  !  "  cries  Angelica. 

"And,  upon  my  conscience,  you — you  squint  a  little." 

"  Eh  !  "  cries  Angelica. 

"  And  your  hair  is. red — and  you  are  marked  with  the  small- 
pox— and  what .''  you  have  three  false  teeth — and  one  leg 
shorter  than  the  other  !  " 

"  You  brute,  you  brute,  you  !  "  Angelica  screamed  out :  and 
as  she  seized  the  ring  with  one  hand,  she  dealt  Giglio,  one,  two, 
three  smacks  on  the  face,  and  would  have  pulled  the  hair  off 
his  head  had  he  not  started  laughing,  and  crying, 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  Angelical  don't  pull  out  7ny  hair,  it  hurts  ! 
You  might  remove  a  great  deal  of  your  own,  as  I  perceive, 
without  scissors  or  pulling  at  all.  Oh,  ho,  ho  !  ha,  ha,  ha  !  he, 
he,  he  ! " 

And  he  nearly  choked  himself  with  laughing,  and  she  with 
rage  ;  when,  with  a  low  bow,  and  dressed  in  his  Court  habit, 
Count  Gambabella,  the  first  lord-in-waiting,  entered  and  said, 
"  Royal  Highnesses  !  Their  Majesties  expect  you  in  the  Pink 
Throne-room,  where  they  await  the  arrival  of  the  Prince  of 
Crim  Tartary  " 


VIII, 

HOW     GRUFFANUFF     PICKED    THE    FAIRY    RING    UP,    AND    PRINCE 
BULBO    CAME    TO     COURT. 

Prince  Bulbo's  arrival  had  set  all  the  Court  in  a  flutter : 
everybody  was  ordered  to  put  his  or  her  best  clothes  on  :  the 
footmen  had  their  gala  liveries  ;  the  Lord  Chancellor  his  new 
wig  ;  the  Guards  their  last  new  tunics  ;  and  Countess  Gruff- 
anuff,  you  may  be  sure,  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  of  deco- 
rating her  old  person  with  her  finest  tilings.  She  was  walking 
through  the  court  of  the  Palace  on  her  way  to  wait  upon  their 
Majesties,  when  she  spied  something  glittering  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  bade  the  boy  in  buttons,  who  was  holding  up  her 
train,  to  go  and  pick  up  the  article  shining  yonder.  He  was 
an  ugly  little  wretch,  in  some  of  the  late  groom-porter's  old 
clothes  cut  down,  and  much  too  tight  for  him  ;  and  yet,  when 
he  had   taken  up  the  ring  (as  it  turned  out  to  be),  and  was 


192 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  REVG. 


carrying  it  to  his  mistress,  she  thought  he  looked  like  a  little 
Cupid.  He  gave  the  ring  to  her  ;  it  was  a  trumpery  little  thing 
enough,  but  too  small  for  any  of  her  old  knuckles,  so  she  put  it 
into  her  pocket. 

"  Oh,  mum  !  "  says  the  boy,  looking  at  her,  "  how — how 
beyoutiful  you  do  look,  mum,  to-day,  muin  !  " 

''And  you,  too,  Jacky,"  she  was  going  to  say  ;  but,  looking 
down  at  him — no,  he  was  no  longer  good-looking  at  all — but 
only  the  carroty-haired  little  Jacky  of  the  morning.  However, 
praise  is  welcome  from  the  ugliest  of  men  or  boys,  and  Gruff- 
anuff,  bidding  the  boy  hold  up  her  train,  walked  on  in  high 
good-liumor.  The  Guards  saluted  her  with  peculiar  respect. 
Captain  Hedzoff,  in  the  ante-room,  said,  "  My  dear  madam, 
you  look  like  an  angel  to-day."  And  so,  bowing  and  smirking, 
Gruffanuff  went  in  and  took  her  place  behind  her  Royal  Master 
and  Mistress,  who  were  in  the  throne-room,  awaiting  the  Prince 
of  Crim  Tartary.  Princess  Angelica  sat  at  their  feet,  and  be- 
hind the  King's  chair  stood  Prince  Giglio,  looking  very  savage. 

The  Prince  of  Crim  Tartary  made  his  appearance,  attended 
by  Baron  Sleibootz,  his  chamberlain,  and  followed  by  a  black 
page,  carrying  the  most  beautiful  crown  you  ever  saw !  He 
was  dressed  in  his  travelling  costume,  and  his  hair,  as  you  see, 
was  a  little  in  disorder.  "  I  have  ridden  three  hundred  miles 
since  breakfast,"  said  he,  "so  eager  was  I  to  behold  the  Prin — ■ 
the  Court  and  august  family  of  Paflagonia,  and  I  could  not  wait 
one  minute  before  appearing  in-your  Majesties'  presences." 

Giglio,  from  behind  the  throne,  burst  out  into  a  roar  of 
contemptuous  laughter  ;  but  all  the  Royal  party,  in  fact,  were 
so  flurried,  that  they  did  not  hear  this  outbreak.  "  Your  R.  H. 
is  welcome  in  any  dress,"  says  the  King.  "  Glumboso,  a  chair 
for  his  Royal  Highness." 

"Any  dress  his  Royal  Highness  wears  is  a  Court-dress," 
says  Princess  Angelica,  smiling  graciously. 

"  Ah  !  but  you  should  see  my  other  clothes,"  said  the 
Prince.  "  I  should  have  had  them  on,  but  that  stupid  carrier 
has  not  brought  them.     Who's  that  laughing? "' 

It  was  Giglio  laughing.  "  I  was  laughing,"  he  said,  because 
you  said  just  now  that  you  were  in  such  a  hurry  to  see  the 
Princess,  that  you  could  not  wait  to  change  your  dress  ?  and 
now  you  say  you  come  in  those  clothes  because  you  have  no 
others." 

"  And  who  are  you  .''  "  says  Prince  Pulbo,  very  fiercely. 

"  My  father  was  King  of  this  country,  and  I  am  his  only 
son,  Prince  !  "  replies  Giglio,  with  equal  haughtiness. 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


193 


*'  Ha  !  "  said  the  King  and  Glumboso,  looking  very  flurried  •. 
but  the  former,  collecting  himself,  said,  "  Dear  Prince  Bulbo, 
I  forgot  to  introduce  to  your  Royal  Highness  my  dear  nephew, 
his  Royal  Highness  Prince  Giglio  !  Know  each  other  !  Em- 
brace each  other  !  Giglio,  give  his  Royal  Highness  your  hand  !" 
And  Giglio,  giving  his  hand,  squeezed  poor  Bulbo's  until  the 
tears  ran  out  of  his  eyes.  Glumboso  now  brought  a  chair  for 
the  Royal  visitor,  and  placed  it  on  the  platform  on  which  the 
King,  Queen,  and  Prince  were  seated ;  but  the  chair  was  on 
the  edge  of  the  platform,  and  as  Bulbo  sat  down,  it  toppled 
over,  and  he  with  it,  rolling  over  and  over,  and  bellowing  like 
a  bull.  Giglio  roared  still  louder  at  this  disaster,  but  it  was 
with  laughter  ;  so  did  all  the  Court  when  Prince  Bulbo  got  up  ; 
for  though  when  he  entered  the  room  he  appeared  not  very 
ridiculous,  as  he  stood  up  from  his  fall,  for  a  moment,  he  looked 
so  exceedingly  plain  and  foolish  that  nobody  could  help  laugh- 
ing at  him.  When  he  had  entered  the  room,  he  was  observed 
to  carry  a  rose  in  his  hand,  which  fell  out  of  it  as  he  tumbled. 

"  My  rose  !  my  rose  !  "  cried  Bulbo  ;  and  his  chamberlain 
dashed  forward  and  picked  it  up,  and  gave  it  to  the  Prince,  who 
put  it  in  his  waistcoat.  Then  people  wondered  why  they  had 
laughed  j  there  was  nothing  particularly  ridiculous  in  him.  He 
was  rather  short,  rather  stout,  rather  red-haired,  but  in  fine,  for 
a  prince  not  so  bad. 

So  they  sat  and  talked,  the  royal  personages  together,  the 
Grim  Tartar  officers  with  those  of  Paflagonia— Giglio  very  com- 
fortable with  Gruffanuff  behind  the  throne.  He  looked  at  her 
with  such  tender  eyes,  that  her  heart  was  all  in  a  flutter.  "  Oh, 
dear  Prince,"  she  said,  "how  could  you  speak  so  haughtily  in 
presence  of  their  Majesties  ?  I  protest  I  thought  I  should 
have  fainted." 

"  I  should  have  caught  you  in  my  arms,"  said  Giglio,  looking 
raptures. 

"  Why  were  you  so  cruel  to  the  Prince  Bulbo,  dear  Prince  ?  " 
says  Gruff. 

"  Because  I  hate  him,"  says  Gil. 

"  You  are  jealous  of  him,  and  still  love  poor  Angelica," 
cries  Gruffanuff,  putting  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"  I  did,  but  I  love  her  no  more  !  "  Giglio  cried.  "  I  despise 
her !  Were  she  heiress  to  twenty  thousand  thrones,  I  would 
despise  her  and  scorn  her.  But  why  speak  of  thrones  .''  I 
have  lost  mine.  I  am  too  weak  to  recover  it — I  am  alone,  and 
have  no  friend." 

"  Oh,  say  not  so,  dear  Prince  !  "  savs  Gruffanuff. 


194 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


"  Besides,"  says  he,  "  I  am  so  happy  here  hcJiiiid  f/ic  throne^ 
that  I  would  not  change  my  place,  no,  not  for  the  throne  of  the 
world  !  " 

"  What  are  you  two  people  chattering  about  there  ?  "  says 
the  Queen,  who  was  rather  good-natured,  though  not  over- 
burdened with  wisdom.  "  It  is  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 
Giglio,  show  Prince  Bulbo  to  his  room.  Prince,  if  your 
clothes  have  not  come,  we  shall  be  very  happy  to  see  you  as 
you  are."  But  when  Prince  Bulbo  got  to  his  bedroom,  his 
luggage  was  there  and  unpacked ;  and  the  hairdresser  coming 
in,  cut  and  curled  him  entirely  to  his  own  satisfaction  ;  and 
when  the  dinner-bell  rang,  the  royal  company  had  not  to 
wait  above  five-and-twenty  minutes  until  Bulbo  appeared,  dur- 
ing which  time  the  King,  who  could  not  bear  to  wait,  grew  as 
sulky  as  possible.  As  for  Giglio,  he  never  left  Madam  Gruffa- 
nuff  all  this  time,  but  stood  with  her  in  the  embrasure  of  a 
window,  paying  her  compliments.  At  length  the  groom  of  the 
chambers  announced  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Crim 
Tartary !  and  the  noble  company  went  into  the  royal  dining- 
room.  It  was  quite  a  small  party;  only  the  King  and  Queer, 
the  Princess,  whom  Bulbo  took  out,  the  two  Princes,  Countess 
Gruffanuff,  Glumboso  the  Prime  Minister,  and  Prince  Bulbo's 
chamberlain.  You  may  be  sure  they  had  a  very  good  dinner 
— let  every  boy  or  girl  think  of  what  he  or  she  likes  best,  and 
fancy  it  on  the  table.* 

The  Princess  talked  incessantl}^  all  dinner-time  to  the  Prince 
of  Crimea,  who  ate  an  immense  deal  too  much,  and  never  took 
his  eyes  off  his  plate,  except  when  Giglio,  who  was  carving  a 
goose,  sent  a  quantity  of  stuffing  and  onion-sauce  into  one  of 
them.  Giglio  only  burst  out  a-laughing  as  the  Crimean  Prince 
wiped  his  shirt-front  and  face  with  his  scented  pocket-handker- 
chief. He  did  not  make  Prince  Bulbo  any  apology.  When  the 
Prince  looked  at  him,  Giglio  would  not  look  that  way.  When 
Prince  Bulbo  said,  "  Prince  Giglio,  may  I  have  the  honor  of 
taking  a  glass  of  wine  with  you  ?  "  Giglio  7(:'^///c//'/V  answer.  All 
his  talk  and  his  eyes  were  for  Countess  Gruffanuff,  who,  you 
may  be  sure,  was  pleased  with  Giglio's  attentions — the  vain  old 
creature  !  When  he  was  not  complimenting  her,  he  was  mak- 
ing fun  of  Prince  Bulbo,  so  loud  that  Gruffanuff  was  always 
tapping  him  with  her  fan  and  saying,  "  Oh,  you  satirical  Prince  ! 
Oh,  fie,   the  Prince  will  hear !  ''     "  Well,  I  don't  mind,"  says 

*  Here  a  very  pretty  g.ime  may  be  played  by  all  thf  cliiklreii  saying  what  tliey  like  best 
[or  dinner. 


THE  ROSE  AA'D   THE  R/M. 


195 


Giglio,  louder  still.  The  King  and  Queen  luckily  did  not 
hear  ;  for  her  Majesty  was  a  little  deaf,  and  the  King  thought 
so  much  about  his  own  dinner,  and,  besides,  made  such  a 
dreadful  noise,  hobgobbling  in  eating  it,  that  he  heard  nothing 
else.  After  dinner,  his  Majesty  and  the  Queen  went  to  sleep 
in  their  arm-chairs. 

This  was  the  time  when  Giglio  began  his  tricks  with  Prince 
Bulbo,  plying  that  young  gentleman  with  port,  sherry,  madeira, 
champagne,  marsala,  cherry-brandy  and  pale  ale,  of  all  of 
which  Master  Bulbo  drank  without  stint.  But  in  plying  his 
guest,  Giglio  was  obliged  to  drink  himself,  and  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  took  more  than  was  good  for  him,  so  that  the  young  men 
were  very  noisy,  rude,  and  foolish  when  they  joined  the  ladies 
after  dinner ;  and  dearly  did  they  pay  for  that  imprudence,  as 
now,  my  darlings,  you  shall  hear  ! 

Bulbo  went  and  sat  by  the  piano,  where  Angelica  was 
playing  and  singing,  and  he  sang  out  of  tune,  and  he  upset  the 
coffee  when  the  footmen  brought  it,  and  he  laughed  out  of 
place,  and  talked  absurdly,  and  fell  asleep  and  snored  horridly. 
Booh,  the  nasty  pig  !  But  as  he  lay  there  stretched  on  the 
pink  satin  sofa,  Angelica  still  persisted  in  thinking  him  the 
most  beautiful  of  human  beings.  No  doubt  the  magic  rose 
which  Bulbo  wore  caused  this  infatuation  on  Angelica's  part; 
but  is  she  the  first  young  woman  who  has  thought  a  silly  fellow 
charming  ? 

Giglio  must  go  and  sit  by  Gruffanuff,  whose  old  face  he,  too, 
every  moment  began  to  find  more  lovely.  He  paid  the  most 
outrageous  compliments  to  her  : — There  never  was  such  a  dar- 
ling. Older  than  he  was  ? — Fiddle-de-dee  !  He  would  marry 
her — he  would,  have  nothing  but  her ! 

To  marry  the  heir  to  the  throne  !  Here  was  a  chance  ! 
The  artful  hussey  actually  got  a  sheet  of  paper  and  wrote  upon 
it,  "  This  is  to  give  notice  that  I,  Giglio,  only  son  of  Savio, 
King  of  Paflagonia,  hereby  promise  to  marry  the  charming  ancl 
virtuous  Barbara  Griselda  Countess  Gruffanuff,  and  widow  of 
the  late  Jenkins  Gruffanuff,  Esq." 

"  What  is  it  you  are  writing,  you  charming  Grufty  ?  "  says 
Giglio,  who  was  lolling  on  the  sofa  by  the  writing-table. 

"  Only  an  order  for  you  to  sign,  dear  Prince,  for  giving 
coals  and  blankets  to  the  poor,  this  cold  weather.  Look  !  the 
King  and  Queen  are  both  asleep,  and  your  Royal  Highness's 
order  will  do." 

So  Giglio,  who  was  very  good-natured,  as  Gruffy  well  knew, 
signed  the  order  immediately ;  and,  when  she   had   it  in   her 


ig6  THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 

pocket,  you  may  fancy  what  airs  she  gave  herself.  She  was 
ready  to  flounce  out  of  the  room  before  the  Queen  herself,  as 
now  she  was  the  wife  of  the  rightful  King  of  Paflagonia  ! 
She  would  not  speak  to  Glumboso,  whom  she  thought  a  brute, 
for  depriving  her  dear  husband  of  the  crown  !  And  when 
candles  came,  and  she  had  helped  to  undress  the  Queen  and 
Princess,  she  went  into  her  own  room,  and  actually  prac- 
tised, on  a  sheet  of  paper,  "  Griselda  Paflagonia,"  "  Barbara 
Regina,"  "  Griselda  Barbara,  Paf.  Reg.,"  and  I  don't  know 
what  signatures  besides,  against  the  day  when  she  should  be 
Queen  forsooth  ! 


IX. 

.40W    B-ETSINDA   GOT   THE    WARMINTG-PAN. 

Little  Betsinda  came  in  to  put  Gruffanuff's  hair  in  papers  ; 
and  the  Countess  was  so  pleased,  that,  for  a  wonder,  she  com- 
plimented Betsinda.  "  Betsinda  !  "  she  said,  "  3'ou  dressed  my 
hair  very  nicely  to-day  ;  I  promised  you  a  little  present.  Here 
are  five  sh —  no,  here  is  a  pretty  little  ring  that  I  picked — that 
I  have  had  some  time."  And  she  gave  Betsinda  the  ring  she 
had  picked  up  in  the  court.     It  ftted  Betsinda  exacdy. 

''  It's  like  the  ring  the  Princess  used  to  wear,"  says  the 
maid. 

"  No  such  thing,"  says  Gruffanuff ;  "  I  have  had  it  this  ever 
so  long.  There — tuck  me  up  quite  comfortable  :  and  now,  as 
it's  a  very  cold  night  "  (the  snow  was  beating  in  at  the  window), 
"  you  may  go  and  warm  dear  Prince  Giglio's  bed,  like  a  good 
girl,  and  then  you  may  unrip  my  green  silk,  and  then  you  can 
just  do  me  up  a  little  cap  for  the  morning,  and  then  you  can 
mend  that  hole  in  my  silk  stocking,  and  then  you  can  go  to 
bed,  Betsinda.  Mind,  I  shall  want  my  cup  of  tea  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning." 

"  I  suppose  I  had  best  warm  both  the  young  gentlemen's 
beds,  ma'am  ?  "  says  Betsinda. 

Gruffanufif,  for  reply,  said,  "  Hau-au-ho  ! — Grau-haw-hoo  ! 
— Hong-hrho  !  "     In  fact,  she  was  snoring  sound  asleep. 

Her  room,  you  know,  is  next  to  the  King  and  Queen,  and 
the  Princess  is  next  to  them.  So  pretty  Betsinda  went  away 
for  the  coals  to  the  kitchen,  and  filled  the  royal  warming-pan. 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


197 


Now  she  was  a  very  kind,  meny,  civil,  pretty  girl ;  but 
there  must  have  been  something  very  captivating  about  her 
this  evening,  for  all  the  women  in  the  servants'  hall  began  to 
scold  and  abuse  her.  The  housekeeper  said  she  was  a  pert, 
stuck-up  thing  :  the  upper-housemaid  asked,  how  dare  she  wear 
such  ringlets  and  ribbons,  it  was  quite  improper !  The  cook 
(for  there  was  a  woman-cook  as  well  as  a  man-cook)  said  to  the 
kitchen-maid  that  she  never  could  see  anything  in  that  creetur: 
but  as  for  the  men,  every  one  of  them,  Coachman,  John,  Buttons 
the  page,  and  Monsieur  the  Prince  of  Crim  Tartary's  valet, 
started  up  and  said — 

"  My  eyes  ! 

"  S  ^:""ssey !  .  ^^^^  ^     g^      .  I  Beisjnda  is ! 

"  O  jemmany !  '  f       j  ^ 

"Ociel! 

"  Hands  off ;  none  of  your  impertinence,  you  vulgar,  low 
people  !  "  says  Betsinda,  walking  off  with  her  pan  of  coals. 
She  heard  the  young  gentleman  playing  at  billiards  as  she  went 
up  stairs  :  first  to  Prince  Giglio's  bed,  which  she  warmed,  and 
then  to  Prince  Bulbo's  room. 

He  came  in  just  as  she  had  done ;  and  as  soon  as  he  saw 
her,  "O!  O!  O!  O!  O!  O!  what  a  beyou — 00 — ootiful  crea- 
ture you  are  !  You  angel — you  Peri — you  rosebud,  let  me  be 
thy  bulbul — thy  Bulbo,  too !  Fly  to  the  desert,  fiy  with  me  ! 
I  never  saw  a  young  gazelle  to  glad  me  with  its  dark-blue  eye 
that  had  eyes  like  thine.  Thou  nymph  of  beauty,  take,  take 
this  young  heart.  A  truer  never  did  itself  sustain  within  a 
soldier's  waistcoat.  Be  mine !  Be  mine !  Be  Princess  of 
Crim  Tartary  !  My  Royal  Father  will  approve  our  union  :  and 
as  for  that  little  carroty-haired  Angelica,  I  do  not  care  a  fig  for 
her  any  more." 

"Go  away,  your  Royal  Highness,  and  go  to  bed,  please," 
said  Betsinda,  with  the  warming-pan. 

But  Bulbo  said,  "  No,  never,  till  thou  swearest  to  be  mine, 
thou  lovely,  blushing  chambermaid  divine  !  Here,  at  thy  feet, 
the  Royal  Bulbo  lies,  the  trembling  captive  of  Betsinda's  eyes." 

And  he  went  on,  making  himself  so  absurd  mid  ridiculous, 
that  Betsinda,  who  was  full  of  fun,  gave  him  a  touch  with  the 
warming-pan,  which,  I  promise  you,  made  him  cry  "  O-o-o-o  !  " 
in  a  \'ery  different  manner. 

Prince  Bulbo  made  such  a  noise  that  Prince  Giglio,  who 
heard  him  from  the  next  room,  came  in  to  see  what  was  the 
matter.  As  soon  as  he  «aw  what  was  taking  place,  Giglio,  in  a 
fury,  rushed  on  Bulbo,  kicked  him  in  the ,  rudest  manner  up  to 


19^ 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RINLr. 


the  ceiling,  and  went  on  kicking  him  till  his  hair  was  quite  ou'. 
of  curl. 

Poor  Betsinda  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry, 
the  kicking  certainly  must  hurt  the  Prince,  but  then  he  looked 
so  droll !  When  Giglio  had  done  knocking  him  up  and  down 
to  the  ground,  and  whilst  he  went  into  a  corner  rubbing  him- 
self, what  do  you  think  Giglio  does  ?  He  goes  down  on  his 
own  knees  to  Betsinda,  takes  her  hand,  begs  her  to  accept  his 
heart,  and  offers  to  marry  her  that  moment.  Fancy  Betsinda's 
condition,  who  had  been  in  love  with  the  Prince  ever  since  she 
first  saw  him  in  the  palace  garden,  when  she  was  quite  a  little 
child. 

"  Oh,  divine  Betsinda  ! "  says  the  Prince,  "  how  have  1 
lived  fifteen  years  in  thy  company  without  seeing  thy  perfec- 
tions ?  What  woman  in  all  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  and  America 
— nay,  in  Australia,  only  it  is  not  yet  discovered — can  presume 
to  be  thy  equal  ?  Angelica  t  Pish  !  GrufTanuff  ?  Phoo  ! 
The  Queen  ?  Ha,  ha  !  Thou  art  my  queen.  Thou  art  the 
real  Angelica,  because  thou  art  really  angelic." 

"  Oh,  Prince  !  1  am  but  a  poor  chambermaid,"  says  Bet- 
sinda, looking,  however,  very  much  pleased. 

"  Didst  thou  not  tend  me  in  my  sickness,  when  all  forsook 
me  ?  "  continues  Giglio.  "  Did  not  thy  gentle  hand  smooth 
my  pillow,  and  bring  me  jelly  and  roast  chicken  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  Prince,  I  did,"  says  Betsinda,  "  and  I  sewed 
your  Royal  Highness's  shirt-buttons  on,  too,  if  you  please,  your 
Royal  Highness,"  cries  this  artless  maiden. 

When  poor  Prince  Bulbo,  who  was  now  madly  in  love  with 
Betsinda,  heard  this  declaration,  when  he  saw  the  unmistakable 
glances  which  she  flung  upon  Giglio,  Bulbo  began  to  cry  bitterly, 
and  tore  quantities  of  hair  out  of  his  head,  till  it  all  covered  the 
room  like  so  much  tow. 

Betsinda  had  left  the  warming-pan  on  the  floor  while  the 
Princes  were  going  on  with  their  conversation,  and  as  they 
began  now  to  quarrel  and  be  very  fierce  with  one  another,  she 
thought  proper  to  run  away. 

"  You  great  big  blubbering  booby,  tearing  your  hair  in  the 
corner  there  !  of  course  you  will  give  me  satisfaction  for  in- 
sulting Betsinda.  You  dare  to  kneel  down  at  Princess  Giglio's 
knees  and  kiss  her  hand  !  " 

"  She's  not  Princess  Giglio  !  "  roars  out  Bulbo.  "  She  shall 
be  Princess  Bulbo,  no  other  shall  be  I^-incess  Bulbo." 

"  You  are  engaged  to  my  cousin  !  "  bellows  out  Giglio. 

"  I  hate  your  cousin,"  says  Bulbo.  • 


THE  RIVALS. 


THE  KOSE  AXD   THE  KING. 


199 


"  You  shall  give  me  satisfactior  for  insulting  Ivrr !  "  cries 
Giglio  in  a  fury. 

"  I'll  have  your  life." 

*'  I'll  run  you  through." 

•'  I'll  cut  your  throat." 

"  I'll  blow  your  brains  out." 

'I'll  knock  your  head  off." 

"  I'll  send  a  friend  to  you  in  the  morning." 

"I'll  send  a  bullet  into  you  in  the  afte/noon.''' 

"  We'll  meet  again,"  says  Giglio,  shaking  his  fist  in  Bulbo's 
face  ;  and  seizing  up  the  warniing-pa'n,  he  kissed  it,  because, 
forsooth,  Betsinda  had  carried  it,  and  rushed  down  stairs. 
What  should  he  see  on  the  landing  but  his  Majesty  talking  re 
Betsinda,  whom  he  called  by  all  sorts  of  fend  names.  His 
Majesty  had  heard  a  row  in  the  building,  so  he  stated,  and 
smelling  something  burning,  had  come  out  to  see  what  the 
matter  was. 

"  It's  the  young  gentlemen  smoking,  perhaps,  sir,"  says 
Betsinda. 

"  Charming  chambermaid,"  says  the  King  (like  all  the  rest 
of  them),  "  never  mind  the  young  men  !  Turn  thy  eyes  on  a 
middle-aged  autocrat,  who  has  been  considered  not  ill-looking 
in  his  time." 

"  Oh,  sir !  what  will  her  Majesty  say  ?  "  cries  Betsioda. 

"  Her  Majesty  !  "  laughs  the  monarch.  "  Her  Majesty  be 
hanged!  Am  I  not  Autocrat  of  Paflagonia?  Have  I  not 
Dlocks,  ropes,  axes, hangmen — ha?  Runs  not  a  river  by  my 
palace  wall  ?  Have  I  not  sacks  to  sew  up  wives  withal  ?  Say 
but  the  word,  that  thou  will  be  mine  own. — vour  mistress 
straightway  in  a  sack  is  sewn,  and  thou  the  sharer  of  my  heart 
and  throne." 

When  Giglio  heard  these  atrocious  sentiments,  he  forgot  the 
respect  usually  paid  to  Royalty,  lifted  up  the  warm.ing-pan,  and 
knocked  down  the  King  as  fiat  as  a  pancake ;  after  which. 
Master  Giglio  took  to  his  heels  and  ran  away,  and  Betsinda 
went  off  screaming,  and  the  Queen,  Gruftanuft",  and  the  Princess, 
all  came  out  of  their  rooms.  Fancy  their  feelings  on  beholding 
their  husband,  father,  sovereign,  in  this  posture  ! 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


X. 

HOW   KING   VALOROSO   WAS    IN   A   DREADFUL   PASSION-. 

As  soon  as  the  c^als  began  to  burn  him,  the  King  came  to 
himself  and  stood  up.  "  Ho  !  my  Captain  of  the  Guards  !  " 
his  Majesty  exclaimed,  stamping  his  royal  feet  with  rage.  O 
piteous  spectacle  !  the  King's  nose  was  bent  quite  crooked  by 
the  blow  of  Prince  Giglio  !  His  Majesty  ground  his  teeth  with 
rage.  "  Hedzoff,"  he  said,  taking  a  death-warrant  out  of  his 
dressing-gown  pocket, — "  Hedzoff,  good  Hedzoff,  seize  upon 
the  Prince.  Thou'ltfind  him  in  his  chamber  two  pair  up.  But 
now  he  dared,  with  sacrilegious  hand,  to  strike  the  sacred 
nightcap  of  a  king — Hedzoff,  and  floor  me  with  a  warming-pan  ! 
Away,  no  more  demur,  the  villain  dies  !  See  it  be  done,  or 
else — h'm  ! — ha  ! — h'm  !  mind  thine  own  eyes  !  And  followed 
by  the  ladies,  and  lifting  up  the  tails  of  his  dressing-gown,  the 
King  entered  his  own  apartment. 

Captain  Hedzoff  was  very  much  affected,  having  a  sincere 
love  for  Giglio.  "  Poor,  poor  Giglio  !  "  he  said,  the  tears  roll- 
ing over  his  manly  face,  and  dripping  down  his  mustaches. 
"  My  noble  young  Prince,  is  it  my  hand  must  lead  thee  to 
death  ? " 

"  Lead  him  to  fiddlestick,  Hedzoff,"  said  a  female  voice. 
It  was  Gruffanuff,  who  had  come  out  in  her  dressing-gown  when 
she  heard  the  noise.  "  The  King  said  you  were  to  hang  the 
Prince.     Well,  hang  the  Prince." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  says  Hedzoff,  who  was  not  a 
very  clever  man. 

"  You  Gaby  !  he  didn't  say  which  Prince,"  says  Gruffanuff. 

"  No  ;  he  didn't  say  which,  certainly,"  said  Hedzoff. 

"  Well,  then,  take  Bulbo,  and  hang  hini  !  " 

When  Captain  Hedzoff  heard  this,  he  began  to  dance  about 
for  joy.  "Obedience  is  a  soldier's  honor,"  says  he.  "  Prince 
Bulbo's  head  will  do  capitally ; "  and  he  went  to  arrest  the 
Prince  the  very  first  thing  next  morning.  ' 

He  knocked  at  the  door.  "Who's  there?"  says  Bulbo. 
"Captain  Hedzoff.^  Step  in,  pray,  my  good  Captain-  I'm 
delighted  to  see  you  ;  I  have  been  expecting  you." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  says  Hedzoff. 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING.  201 

"Sleibootz,  my  Chamberlain,  will  act  for  me,"  says  the 
Prince. 

"  I  beg  your  Royal  Highness's  pardon,  but  you  will  have  ta 
act  for  yourself,  and  it's  a  pity  to  wake  Baron  Sleibootz." 

The  Prince  Bulbo  still  seemed  to  take  the  matter  very 
coolly.  "Of  course,  Captain,"  says  he,  "you  are  come  about 
that  affair  with  Prince  Giglio  ?  " 

"Precisely,"  says  Hedzoff  :  "  that  affair  of  Prince  Giglio." 

"  Is  it  to  be  pistols,  or  swords,  Captain  ?  "  asks  Bulbo. 
"I'm  a  pretty  good  hand  with  both,  and  PI!  do  for  Prince 
Giglio  as  sure  as  my  name  is  my  Royal  Highness  Prince 
Bulbo." 

"There's  some  mistake,  my  lord,"  says  the  Captain.  "The 
business  is  done  with  axes  among  us." 

"  Axes  ?  That's  sharp  work,"  says  Bulbo.  "  Call  my 
Chamberlain,  he'll  be  my  second,  and  in  ten  minutes  I  flatter 
myself  you'll  see  Master  Giglio's  head  off  his  impertinent 
shoulders.  I'm  hungry  for  his  blood.  Hoo-oo — aw  !  '*  and  he 
looked  as  savage  as  an  ogre. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  by  this  warrant  I  am  to  take 
you  prisoner,  and  hand  you  over  to — to  the  executioner." 

"  Pooh,  pooh,  my  good  man  ! — Stop,  I  say, — ho  ! — hulloa  !  " 
was  all  that  this  luckless  Prince  was  enabled  to  say  :  for  Hed- 
zoff's  guards  seizing  him,  tied  a  handkerchief  over  his  mouth 
and  face,  and  carried  him  to  the  place  of  execution. 

The  King,  who  happened  to  be  talking  to  Glumboso,  saw 
him  pass,  and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  said,  "  So  much  for 
Giglio.     Now  let's  go  to  breakfast." 

The  Captain  of  the  Guard  handed  over  his  prisoner  to  the 
Sheriff,  with  the  fatal  order. 

"At  sight  cut  off  the  bearer's  head. 

"Valoroso  XXIV." 

"It's  a  mistake,"  says  Bulbo,  who  did  not  seem  to  under- 
stand the  business  in  the  least. 

"  Poo — poo — pooh,"  says  the  Sheriff.  "  P^etch  Jack  Ketch 
instantly.     Jack  Ketch  !  " 

And  poor  Bulbo  was  led  to  the  scaffold,  where  an  execu 
tioner  with  a  block  and  a  tremendous  axe  was  always  ready  ir. 
case  he  should  be  wanted. 

But  we  must  now  revert  to  Giglio  and  Betsinda. 


202  THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


XT. 

WHAT   GRUFFANUFF   DID   TO   GIGLIO   AND    BETSlJND^, 

Gruffanuff,  who  had  seen  what  had  happened  with  the 
King,  and  knew  that  Giglio  must  come  to  grief,  got  up  very 
early  the  next  morning,  and  went  to  devise  some  plans  for  res" 
cuing  her  darling  husband,  as  the  silly  old  thing  insisted  on 
calling  him.  She  found  him  walking  up  and  down  the  garden, 
thinking  of  a  rhyme  for  Betsinda  {finder  and  ivinda  were  all  he 
could  find),  and  indeed  having  forgotten  all  about  the  past 
evening,  except  that  Betsinda  was  the  most  lovely  of  beings. 

"  Well,  dear  Giglio  ?  "  says  Gruff. 

"  Well,  dear  Guffy  ?  "  says  Giglio,  only  he  was  quite  satirical. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  darling,  what  you  must  do  in  this 
scrape.     You  must  fly  the  country  for  a  while." 

"  What  scrape  ? — fly  the  country  ?  Never  without  her  I  love, 
Countess,"  says  Giglio, 

"  No,  she  will  accompany  you,  dear  Prince,"  she  says  in 
her  most  coaxing  accents.  "  First,  we  must  get  the  jewels  be- 
longing to  our  royal  parents,  and  those  of  her  and  his  present 
Majesty.  Here  is  the  key,  duck  ;  they  are  all  yours,  you  know, 
by  right,  for  you  are  the  rightful  King  of  Paflagonia,  and  your 
wife  will  be  the  rightful  Queen." 

"  Will  she  ?  "  says  Giglio. 

"  Yes  ;  and  having  got  the  jewels,  go  to  Glumboso's  apart- 
ment, where,  under  his  bed,  you  will  find  sacks  containing 
money  to  the  amount  of  ;^2 17,000,000,987,439  i3J'.  6^4d.,  all 
belonging  to  j^ou,  for  he  took  it  out  of  your  royal  father's  room 
on  the  day  of  his  death.     With  this  we  will  fly." 

"  JVe  will  fly  ?  "  says  Giglio, 

"Yes,  you  and  your  bride — your  afiianced  love  —  youi 
Gruffy !  "  says  the  Countess,  with  a  languishing  leer. 

"  Voti  my  bride !  "  says  Giglio.  "  You,  you  hideous  old 
woman  !  " 

"  Oh,  you — you  wretch  !  didn't  you  give  me  this  paper 
promising  marriage  ?  "  cries  Gruff. 

"  Get  away,  you  old  goose  !  I  love  Betsinda,  and  Betsinda 
only  !  "  And  in  a  fit  of  terror  he  ran  from  her  as  quickly  as  he 
could. 

"  He  !  he  !  he  ! ''  ahrieks  out  Gruff ;  "  a  promise  is  a  promise, 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING.  203 

if  there  are  laws  in  Paflagonia !  And  as  for  tliat  monster,  tliat 
wretcli,  tliat  iiend,  tliat  ugly  little  vixen — as  for  that  upstart, 
that  ingrate,  that  beast  Betsinda,  Master  Giglio  will  have  no 
little  difficulty  in  discovering  her  whereabouts.  He  may  look 
\ery  long  before  finding  her,  I  warrant.  He  little  knows  that 
Miss  Betsinda  is " 

Is — what  ?  Now,  you  shall  hear.  Poor  Betsinda  got  up  at 
five  in  winter's  morning  to  bring  her  cruel  mistress  her  tea  ; 
and  instead  of  finding  her  in  a  good-humor,  found  Gruffy  as 
cross  as  two  sticks.  The  Countess  boxed  Betsinda's  ears  half 
a  dozen  times  whilst  she  was  dressing ;  but  as  poor  little  Bet- 
sinda was  used  to  this  kind  of  treatment,  she  did  not  feel  any 
special  alarm.  "  And  now,"  says  she,  "  when  her  Majesty 
rings  her  bell  twice.  Til  trouble  you,  miss,  to  attend." 

So  when  the  Queen's  bell  rang  twice,  Betsinda  came  to  her 
Majesty  and  made  a  pretty  little  curtsey.  The  Queen,  the 
Princess,  and  Gruffanuff  were  all  three  in  the  room.  As  soon 
as  thev  saw  her  they  began. 

"  You  wretch  !  "  says  the  Queen. 

"  You  little  vulgar  thing  !  "  said  the  Princess. 

"  You  beast !  "  says  Gruffanuff. 

"  Get  out  of  my  sight !  "  says  the  Queen, 

"  Go  away  with  you,  do  !  "  says  the  Princess. 

*'  Quit  the  premises  !  "  says  Gruffanuff. 

Alas !  and  woe  is  me  !  very  lamentable  events  had  occurred 
to  Betsinda  that  morning,  and  all  in  consequence  of  that  fatal 
warming-pan  business  of  the  previous  night.  The  King  had 
offered  to  marry  her  ;  of  course  her  Majesty  the  Queen  was 
jealous  :  Bulbo  had  fallen  in  love  with  her ;  of  course  Angelica 
was  furious  :  Giglio  was  in  love  with  her,  and  oh,  what  a  fury 
Gruffy  was  in  ! 

"Take  off  that       ^  netticoat        l^      ^ave    you,"    they 

lake  ott  that     •^  petticoat        >     said,  all  at  once, 

(         gown  )  ' 

and  began  tearing  the  clothes  off  poor  Betsinda. 

,,  -TT        1  (  the  King  ? "         )  cried  the  Queen,  the 

How  dare  you     )  p^.^^^^  ^^^^1^^  ,  „  _         Pnncess,  and 
flirt  with  (prince  Giglio?")  Countess. 

"  Give  her  the  rags  she  wore  when  she  came  into  the  house, 
and  turn  her  out  of  it !  "  cries  the  Queen. 

"  Mind  she  does  not  go  with  mv  shoes  on,  which  I  lent  her 
so  kindly,"  says  the  Princess  ;  and  indeed  the  Princess's  shoes 
were  a  areat  deal  too  big  for  Betsinda. 


2  04  THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 

"  Come  with  me,  you  filthy  hussey  !  "  and  taking  up  the 
Queen's  poker,  the  cruel  Gruffanuff  drove  Betsinda  into  her 
room. 

The  Countess  went  to  the  glass  box  in  which  she  had  kept 
Betsinda's  old  cloak  and  shoe  this  ever  so  long,  and  said, 
"  Take  those  rags,  you  litde  beggar  creature,  and  strip  off 
everything  belonging  to  honest  people,  and  go  about  your  busi- 
ness." And  she  actually  tore  off  the  poor  little  delicate  thing's 
back  almost  all  her  things,  and  told  her  to  be  off  out  of  the 
house. 

Poor  Betsinda  huddled  the  cloak  round  her  back,  on  which 
were  embroidered  the  letters  prin  *  *  *  rosal  *  *  and  then 
came  a  great  rent. 

As  for  the  shoe,  what  was  she  to  do  with  one  poor  little 
tootsey  sandal  ?  The  string  was  still  to  it,  so  she  hung  it  round 
her  neck. 

"  Won't  you  give  me  a  pair  of  shoes  to  go  out  in  the  snow, 
mum,  if  you  please,  mum  ?  "  cried  the  poor  child. 

"  No,  you  wicked  beast  !  "  says  Gruffanuff,  driving  her  along 
with  the  poker — driving  her  down  the  cold  stairs — driving  her 
through  the  cold  hall — flinging  her  out  into  the  cold  street,  so 
that  the  knocker  itself  shed  tears  to  see  her  ! 

But  a  kind  Fairy  made  the  soft  snow  warm  for  her  little 
feet,  and  she  wrapped  herself  up  in  the  ermine  of  her  mantle, 
and  was  gone  ! 

"  And  now  let  us  think  about  breakfast,"  says  the  greedy 
Queen. 

"  What  dress  shall  I  put  on,  mamma  ?  the  pink  or  the  pea- 
green  ?  "  says  Angelica,  "  Which  do  you  think  the  dear  Prince 
will  like  best  ?  " 

"  Mrs,  V,  !  "  sings  out  the  King  from  his  dressing-room, 
"  let  us  have  sausages  for  breakfast !  Remember  we  have 
Prince  Bulbo  staying  with  us  ,''  " 

And  they  all  went  to  get  ready. 

Nine  o'clock  came,  and  they  were  all  in  the  breakfast-room, 
and  no  Prince  Bulbo  as  yet.  The  urn  was  hissing  and  hum- 
ming :  the  muffins  were  smoking — such  a  heap  of  muffins  !  the 
eggs  were  done  :  there  was  a  pot  of  raspberry  jam,  and  coffee, 
and  a  beautiful  chicken  and  tongue  on  the  side-table,  Marmi- 
tonio  the  cook  brought  in  the  sausages.  Oh,  how  nice  they 
smelt  ! 

"  Where  is  Bulbo  ?  "  said  the  King.  "  John,  where  is  his 
Roval  Iliirhness  ?  "' 


THE  ROSE  AXD   THE  RING. 


205 


John  said  Jie  had  a  took  up  his  Roilighnessesses  shaving- 
water,  and  his  clothes  and  things,  and  he  wasn't  in  his  3'oom, 
which  he  sposed  his  RoyUness  was  just  stepped  hout. 

"  Stepped  out  before  breakfast  in  the  snow  !  Impossible  !  " 
says  the  King,  sticking  his  fork  into  a  sausage.  "  My  dear, 
take  one.  Angelica,  won't  you  have  a  saveloy  ?  "  The  Prin- 
cess took  one,  being  very  fond  of  them  ;  and  at  this  moment 
Glumboso  entered  with  Captain  Hedzoff,  both  looking  very 
much  disturbed.  "  I  am  afraid  your  Majesty — "  cries  Glum- 
boso. "  No  business  before  breakfast.  Glum  !  "  says  the  King. 
"  Breakfast  first,  business  next.     Mrs.  V.,  some  more  sugar  !  " 

"  Sire,  I  am  afraid  if  we  wait  till  after  breakfast  it  will  be 
too  late,"  says  Glumboso.  "  He — he — he'll  be  hanged  at  half- 
past  nine." 

"  Don't  talk  about  hanging  and  spoil  my  breakfast,  you 
unkind  vulgar  man  you,"  cries  the  Princess.  ''John,  some 
mustard.     Pray  who  is  to  be  hanged  ?  " 

"  Sire,  it  is  the  Prince,"  whispers  Glumboso  to  the  King. 

"Talk  about  business  after  breakfast,  I  tell  you  !  "  says  his 
Majesty,  quite  sulky. 

"  We  shall  have  a  war,  Sire,  depend  on  it,"  says  the  Minister. 
"His  father.  King  Padella  *     *     *     *  " 

"  His  father,  King  7vho  1  "  says  the  King.  "  King  Padelte. 
is  not  Giglio's  father.  My  brother.  King  Savio,  was  Giglio's 
father." 

"  It's  Prince  Bulbo  they  are  hanging.  Sire,  not  Prince  Giglio," 
says  the  Prime  Minister. 

"  You  told  me  to  hang  the  Prince,  and  I  took  the  ugly  one," 
says  Hedzoff.  "  I  didn't,  of  course,  think  your  Majesty  intended 
to  murder  your  own  flesh  and  blood  !  " 

The  King  for  all  reply  flung  the  plate  of  sausages  at 
Hedzoff's  head.  The  Princess  cried  out,  "  Hee-karee-karee  !  " 
and  fell  down  in  a  fainting-fit. 

"  Turn  the  cock  of  the  urn  upon  her  Royal  Highness,"  said 
the  King,  and  the  boiling  water  gradually  revived  her.  His 
Majesty  looked  at  his  watch,  compared  it  by  the  clock  in  the 
parlor,  and  by  that  of  the  church  in  the  square  opposite  ;  then 
he  wound  it  up  ;  then  he  looked  at  it  again.  "  The  great  ques- 
tion is,"  says  he,  "  am  I  fast  or  am  I  slow  ?  If  I'm  slow,  we 
may  as  well  go  on  with  breakfast,  ft  I'm  fast,  why,  there  is 
just  the  possibility  of  saving  Prince  Bulbo.  It's  a  doosid  awk- 
ward mistake,  and  upon  my  word,  Hedzoff,  I  have  the  greatest 
mind  to  have  you  hanged  too." 

"  Sire,  I  did  but  my  dutv :  a   soldier  has  but  his   orders.     I 


2o6  THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 

didn't  expect,  after  forty-seven  years  of  faithful  service,  that  my 
sovereign  would  think  of  putting  me  to  a  felon's  death  !  " 

"  A  hundred  thousand  plagues  upon  you  !  Can't  you  see 
that  while  you  are  talking  my  Eulbo  is  being  hung?  "  screamed 
the  Princess. 

"  By  Jove  !  she's  always  right,  that  girl,  and  I'm  so  absent," 
says  the  King,  looking  at  his  watch  again.  "  Ha  1  Hark,  there 
go  the  drums !     What  a  doosid  awkward  thing  though  !  " 

"  O  Papa,  you  goose  !  Write  the  reprieve,  and  let  me  run 
with  it,"  cries  the  Princess — and  she  got  a  sheet  of  paper,  and 
pen  and  ink,  and  laid  them  before  the  King. 

"Confound  it!  Where  are  my  spectacles  ?"  the  Monarch 
exclaimed.  "  Angelica  !  Go  up  into  my  bedroom,  look  under 
my  pilbw,  not  your  mamma's  ;  there  you'll  see  my  keys.     Bring 

them  down   to  me,  and Well,  well !  what   impetuous  things 

these  girls  are  1  "  Angelica  was  gone,  and  had  run  up  panting 
to  the  bedroom  and  found  the  keys,  and  was  back  again  before 
the  King  had  finished  a  muffin.  "Now,  love,"  says  he,  "you 
must  go  all  the  way  back  for  my  desk,  in  which  my  spectacles 
are.  If  you  ?i:'CA'/// but  have  heard  me  out  *  *  *  Be  hanged 
to  her  !  There  she  is  off  again.  Angelica !  Angelica  ! " 
When  his  Majesty  called  in  his  loud  voice,  she  knew  she  must 
obey,  and  came  back. 

"  My  dear,  when  you  go  out  of  a  room,  how  often  have  I 
\o\dyo\\,  shut  the  door?  That's  a  darling.  That's  all."  At 
last  the  keys  and  the  desk  and  the  spectacles  were  got,  and  the 
King  mended  his  pen,  and  signed  his  name  to  a  reprieve,  and 
Angelica  ran  with  it  as  swift  as  the  wind.  "  You'd  better  stay, 
my  love,  and  finish  the  muffins.  There's  no  use  going.  Be 
sure  it's  too  late.  Hand  me  over  that  raspberry  jam,  please," 
said  the  Monarch.  "  Bong !  Bawong  !  There  goes  the  half 
hour.     I  knew  it  was." 

Angelica  ran,  and  ran,  and  ran,  and  ran.  She  ran  up  Fore 
Street,  and  down  High  Street,  and  through  the  Market-place, 
and  down  to  the  left,  and  over  the  bridge,  and  up  the  blind 
alley,  and  back  again,  and  round  by  the  Castle,  and  so  along 
by  the  Haberdasher's  on  the  right,  opposite  the  lamp-post,  and 
round  the  square,  and  she  came — she  came  to  the  Execution 
place,  where  she  saw  Bulbo  laying  his  head  on  the  block  ! ! '. 
The  executioner  raised  his  axe,'but  at  that  moment  the  Princess 
came  panting  up  and  cried  Reprieve.  "  Reprieve  !  "  screamed 
the  Princess.  "  Reprieve  !  "  shouted  all  the  people.  Up  the 
scaffold  stairs  she  sprang,  with  the  agility  of  a  lighter  of  lamps  ; 
and  flinging  herself  in  Bulbo's  arms,  regardless  of  all  ceremony, 


ANGELICA  ARRIVES  JUST  IN. TIME. 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


207 


she  cried  out,  "  O  my  Prince  !  my  lord  !  my  love  ;  my  Bulbo ! 
Thine  Angelica  has  been  in  time  to  save  thy  precious  existence, 
sweet  rose-bud ;  to  jDrevent  thy  being  nipped  in  thy  young 
bloom  !  Had  aught  befallen  thee,  Angelica  too  had  died,  an^ 
welcomed  death  that  joined  her  to  her  Bulbo." 

"  H'm  !  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes,"  said  Bulbo,  look- 
ing so  very  much  puzzled  and  uncomfortable,  that  the  Princess, 
in  tones  of  tenderest  strai' ,  asked  the  cause  of  his  disquiet. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Angelica,"  said  he  :  "since  I  came 
here,  yesterday,  there  has  been  such  a  row,  and  disturbance, 
and  quarrelling,  and  fighting,  and  chopping  of  heads  off,  and 
the  deuce  to  pay,  that  I  am  inclined  to  go  back  to  Crim 
Tartary." 

"  But  with  me  as  thy  bride,  my  Bulbo  !  Though  wherever 
thou  art  is  Crim  Tartarv  to  me,  my  bold,  mv  beautiful,  my 
Bulbo  ! " 

"  Well,  well,  I  suppose  we  must  be  married,"  says  Bulbo. 
"  Doctor,  )'ou  came  to  read  the  Funeral  Service — read  the 
Marriage  Service,  will  you  .-'  What  must  be,  must.  That  will 
satisfy  Angelica,  and  then,  in  the  name  of  peace  and  quietness, 
do  let  us  go  back  to  breakfast." 

Bulbo  had  carried  a  rose  in  his  mouth  all  the  time  of  the 
dismal  ceremony.  It  was  a  fairy  rose,  and  he  was  told  by  his 
mother  that  he  ought  never  to  part  with  it.  So  he  had  kept 
it  between  his  teeth,  even  when  he  laid  his  poor  head  upon  the 
block,  hoping  vaguely  that  some  chance  would  turn  up  in  his 
favor.  As  he  began  to  speak  to  Angelica,  he  forgot  about  the 
rose,  and  of  course  it  dropped  out  of  his  mouth.  The  romantic 
Princess  instantly  stooped  and  seized  it.  "  Sweet  rose  !  "  she 
exclaimed,  "that  bloomed  upon  my  Bulbo's  lip,  never,  never 
will  I  part  from  thee  !  "  and  she  placed  it  in  her  bosom.  And 
you  know  Bulbo  couldn't  ask  her  to  give  the  rose  back  again. 
And  they  went  to  breakfast ;  and  as  they  walked,  it  appeared  to 
Bulbo  that  Angelica  became  more  exquisitely  lovely  every 
moment. 

He  was  frantic  until  they  were  married  ;  and  now,  strange 
to  say,  it  was  Angelica  who  didn't  care  about  him  !  He  knelt 
down,  he  kissed  her  hand,  he  prayed  and  begged  ;  he  cried 
with  admiration  ;  while  she  for  her  part  said  she  really  thought 
they  might  wait :  it  seemed  to  her  he  was  not  handsome  any 
more — no,  not  at  all,  quite  the  reverse  ;  and  not  clever,  no, 
very  stupid  ;  and  not  well  bred,  like  Giglio  ;  no,  on  the  con- 
trary, dreadfully  vul ■ 

What,  I  cannot  say,  for  King  Valoroso  roared  out,   "  Foo/l^ 


2o8  THE  ROSE  AIVD   THE  RING. 

Stuff !"  in  a  terrible  voice,  "We  will  have  no  n.ore  ^f  this 
shilly-shallying  !  Call  the  Archbishop,  and  let  the  Prince  and 
Princess  be  married  off-hand  !  " 

So,  married  they  were,  and  t   am   sure  for  my  part  I  trust 
they  will  be  happy. 


XII. 

HOW    BETSINDA    FLED,    AND    WHAT    BECAME    OF    HER. 

Betsindx  wandered  on  and  on,  till  she  passed  through  the 
town  gates,  and  so  on  the  great  Crim  Tartary  road,  the  very 
way  on  which  Giglio  too  was  going.  "Ah!"  thought  she,  as 
the  diligence  passed  her,  of  which  the  conductor  was  blowing  a 
delightful  tune  on- his  horn,  "how  I  should  like  to  be  on  that 
coach  !  ■'  But  the  coach  and  the  jingling  horses  were  very  soon 
gone.  She  little  knew  who  was  in  it,  though  very  likely  she 
was  thinking  of  him  all  the  time. 

Then  came  an  empty  cart,  returning  from  market ;  and  the 
driver  being  a  kind  man,  and  seeing  such  a  very  pretty  girl 
trudging  along  the  road  with  bare  feet,  most  good-naturedly 
gave  her  a  seat.  He  said  he  lived  on  the  confines  of  the  forest, 
where  his  old  father  was  a  woodman,  and,  if  she  liked,  he  would 
take  her  so  far  on  the  road.  All  roads  were  the  same  to  little 
Betsinda,  so  she  very  thankfully  took  this  one. 

And  the  carter  put  a  cloth  round  her  bare  feet,  and  gave  her 
some  bread  and  cold  bacon,  and  was  very  kind  to  her.  For  all 
that  she  was  very  cold  and  melancholy.  When  after  travelling 
on  and  on,  evening  came,  and  all  the  black  pines  were  bending 
with  snow,  and  there,  at  last,  was  the  comfortable  light  beam- 
ing in  the  woodman's  windows  ;  and  so  they  arrived,  and  went 
into  his  cottage.  He  was  an  old  man,  and  had  a  number  of 
children,  who  were  just  at  supper,  with  nice  hot  bread-and-milk, 
when  their  elder  brother  arrived  with  the  cart.  And  they 
jumped  and  clapped  their  hands  ;  for  they  were  good  children  ; 
and  he  had  brought  them  toys  from  the  town.  And  when  they 
saw  the  pretty  stranger,  they  ran  to  her,  and  brought  her  to  the 
fire,  and  rubbed  her  poor  little  feet,  and  brought  her  bread-and- 
milk. 

"  Look,  Father !  "  they  said  to  the  old  woodman,  "  look  at 
this  poor  girl,  and  see  what  cold  feet  she  has.     They  are  as 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


209 


white  as  our  milk  !  And  loolc  and  see  what  an  odd  cloak  she 
has,  just  like  the  bit  of  velvet  that  hangs  up  in  our  cupboard, 
and  which  you  found  that  day  the  little  cubs  were  killed  by 
King  Padella,  in  the  forest !  And  look,  why,  bless  us  all  1  she 
has  got  round  her  neck  just  such  another  little  shoe  as  that  you 
brought  home,  and  have  shown  us  so  often — a  little  blue  velvet 
shoe ! "  , 

"What,"  said  the  old  woodman, — "What  Is  this  about  a 
shoe  and  a  cloak  ?  " 

And  Betsinda  explained  that  she  had  been  left,  when  quite 
a  little  child,  at  the  town  with  this  cloak  and  this  shoe.  And 
the  persons  who  had  taken  care  of  her  had — had  been  angry 
with  her,  for  no  fault,  she  hoped,  of  her  own.  And  they  had 
sent  her  away  with  her  old  clothes — and  here,  in  fact,  she  was. 
She  remembered  having  been  in  a  forest — and  perhaps  it  was 
a  dream — it  was  so  very  odd  and  strange — having  lived  in  a 
cave  with  lions  there  ;  and,  before  that,  having  lived  in  a  very, 
very  fine  house,  as  fine  as  the  King's,  in  the  town. 


When  the  woodman  heard  this  he  was  so  astonished,  it  was 
quite  curious  to  see  how  astonished  he  was.  He  went  to  his 
cupboard,  and  took  out  of  a  stocking  a  five-shilling  piece  of 
King  Cavolfiore,  and  vowed  it  was  exactly  like  the  young  woman. 
And  then  he  produced  the  shoe  and  the  piece  of  velvet  which 
he  had  kept  so  long,  and  compared  them  with  the  things  which 
Betsinda  wore.  In  Betsinda's  little  shoe  was  written,  "  Hopkins, 
maker  to  the  Royal  Family ; "  so  in  the  other  shoe  was  written, 
"  Hopkins,  maker  to  the  Royal  Family."  In  the  inside  of 
Betsinda's  piece  of  cloak  was  embroidered,  "  prin  rosal  ; "  in 
the  other  piece  of  cloak  was  embroidered  "cess  ba.  No.  246." 
So  that  when  put  together  you  read,  "  princess  rosalba. 
No.  246." 

On  seeing  this,  the  dear  old  woodman  fell  down  on  his  knee, 


2IO  THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 

saying  :  "  O  my  princess,  O  my  gracious  royal  lady,  O  my  right 
fill  Queen  of  Crim  Tartary, — I  hail  thee — I  acknowledge  thee 
— I  do  thee  homage !  "  And  in  token  of  his  fealty,  he  rubbed 
his  venerable  nose  three  times  on  the  ground,  and  put  the 
Princess's  foot  on  his  head. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "  my  good  woodman,  you  must  be  a  noble^ 
man  of  my  royal  father's  Court !  "  For  in  her  lowly  retreat, 
and  under  the  name  of  Betsinda,  Her  Majesty,  Rosalba, 
Queen  of  Crim  Tartary,  had  read  of  the  customs  of  all  foreign 
courts  and  nations. 

_ "  Marry,  indeed  am  I,  my  gracious  liege — the  poor  Lord 
Spinachi  once,  the  humble  woodman  these  fifteen  years  syne  — 
ever  since  the  tyrant  Padella  (may  ruin  overtake  the  treacherous 
knave  !)  dismissed  me  from  my  post  of  First  Lord." 

"First  Lord  of  the  Toothpick  and  Joint  Keeper  of  the 
Snuff-box  ?  I  mind  me  !  Thou  heldest  these  posts'  under  our 
royal  Sire.  They  are  restored  to  thee,  Lord  Spinachi !  I  make 
thee  knight  of  the  second  class  of  our  Order  of  the  Puntpkin 
(the  first  class  being  reserved  for  crowned  heads  alone).  Rise, 
Marquis  of  Spinachi !  "  And  with  indescribable  majesty,  the 
Queen,  who  had  no  sword  handy,  waved  the  pewter  spoon,  with 
which  she  had  been  taking  her  bread-and-milk,  over  the  bald 
head  of  the  old  nobleman,  whose  tears  absolutely  made  a  puddle 
on  the  ground,  and  whose  dear  cliildren  went  to  bed  that  night 
Lords  and  Ladies  Bartolomeo,  Ubaldo,  Catarina,  and  Ottavia 
degii  Spinachi ! 

The  acquaintance  Her  Majesty  showed  with  the  history 
and  nob/e  families  of  her  empire,  was  wonderful.  "The  House 
of  Broccoli  should  remain  faithful  to  us,"  she  said;  "they  were 
ever  welcome  at  our  Court.  Have  the  Articiocchi,  as  was  their 
wont,  turned  to  the  Rising  Sun  ?  The  family  of  Sauerkraut 
must  sure  be  with  us — they  were  ever  welcome  in  the  halls  of 
King  Cavolfiore."  And  so  she  went  on  enumerating  quite  a 
list  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  Crim  Tartary,  so  admirably 
had  her  TvLijesty  profited  by  her  studies  while  in  exile. 

l"he  old  Marquis  of  Spinachi  said  he  could  answer  for  them 
all  :  that  the  whole  country  groaned  under  Padella's  tyranny, 
and  longed  to  return  to  its  rightful  sovereign  ;  and  late  as  it 
was,  he  sent  his  children,  who  knew  the  forest  well,  to  summon 
this  nobleman  and  that ;  and  when  his  eldest  son,  who  had 
been  rubbing  the  horse  do'.vn  and  giving  him  his  supper,  came 
into  the  house  for  his  own,  the  Marquis  told  him  to  put  his 
boots  on,  and  a  saddle  on  the  m^r^  and  ride  hither  and  thither 
to  such  and  ^-uch  people. 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RIXG.  211 

When  the  young  man  heard  who  his  companion  in  the  can 
l.ttcf  been,  he  too  knelt  down  and  put  her  royal  foot  on  his 
head  ;  he  too  bedewed  the  ground  with  his  tears  ;  he  was  fran- 
tically in  love  with  her,  as  everybody  now  was  who  saw  her  :  so 
were  the  young  Lords  Bartolomeo  and  Ubaldo,  who  punched 
each  other's  little  heads  out  of  jealousy  :  and  so,  when  they 
.came  from  east  and  west  at  the  summons  of  the  Marquis  degli 
Spinachi,  were  the  Crim  Tartar  Lords  who  still  remained  faith- 
ful to  the  House  of  Cavolfiore.  They  were  such  very  old  gen- 
tlemen for  the  most  part,  that  her  Majesty  never  suspected  their 
absurd  passion,  and  went  among  them  quite  unaware  of  the 
havoc  her  beauty  was  causing,  until  an  old  blind  Lord  who  had 
joined  her  party  told  her  what  the  truth  was  ;  after  which,  for 
fear  of  making  the  people  too  much  in  love  with  her,  she  always 
wore  a  veil.  She  went  about  privately,  from  one  nobleman's 
castle  to  another  :  and  they  visited  amongst  themselves  again, 
and  had  meetings,  and  composed  proclamations  and  counter- 
proclamations,  and  distributed  all  the  best  places  of  the  king- 
dom amongst  one  another,  and  selected  who  of  the  opposition 
party  should  be  executed  when  the  Queen  came  to  her  own. 
And  so  in  about  a  year  they  were  ready  to  move. 

The  party  of  Fidelity  was  in  truth  composed  of  very  feeble 
old  fogies  for  the  most  part :  they  went  about  the  country 
waving  their  old  swords  and  flags,  and  calling  "  God  save  the 
Queen  !  "  and  King  Padella  happening  to  be  absent  upon  an 
invasion,  they  had  their  own  way  for  a  little,  and  to  be  sure  the 
people  were  very  enthusiastic  whenever  they  saw  the  Queen  ; 
otherwise  the  vulgar  took  matters  very  quietly — for,  they  said, 
as  far  as  they  could  recollect,  they  were  pretty  well  as  much 
taxed  in  Cavolfiore's  time  as  now  in  Padella's. 


XIIL 

HOW  QUEEN  ROSALBA  CAME  TO  THE  CASTLE  OF  THE  BOLD  COUN'l 
HOGGINARMO. 

Her  Majesty,  having  indeed  nothing  else  to  give,  made 
all  her  followers  Knights  of  the  Pumpkin,  and  Marquises,  Earls, 
and  Baronets  ;  and  they  had  a  little  court  for  her,  and  made 
her  a  little  crown  of  gilt  paper,  and  a  robe  of  cotton  velvet; 


212  THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 

and  they  quarrelled  about  the  places  to  be  given  away  ui  hei 
court,  and  about  rank  and  precedence  and  dignities  ; — you  can't 
think  how  they  quarrelled  !  The  poor  Queen  was  very  tired  of 
her  honors  before  she  had  them  a  month,  and  I  dare  say  sighed 
sometimes  even  to  be  a  lady's-maid  again.  But  we  must  all  do 
our  duty  in  our  respective  stations,  so  the  Queen  resigned  her- 
self to  perform  hers. 

We  have  said  how  it  happened  that  none  of  the  Usurper's 
troops  came  out  to  oppose  this  Army  of  Fidelity  :  it  pottered 
along  as  nimbly  as  the  gout  of  the  principal  commanders  al- 
lowed :  it  consisted  of  twice  as  many  officers  as  soldiers ;  and 
lit  length  passed  near  the  estates  of  one  of  the  most  powerful 
noblemen  of  the  country,  who  had  not  declared  for  the  Queen, 
but  of  whom  her  party  had  hopes,  as  he  was  always  quarrelling 
with  King  Padella. 

When  they  came  close  to  his  park  gates,  this  nobleman  sent 
to  say  he  would  wait  upon  her  Majesty  ;  he  was  a  most  power- 
ful warrior,  and  his  name  was  Count  Hogginarmo,  whose  hel- 
met it  took  two  strong  negroes  to  carry.  He  knelt  down  before 
her  and  said,  ''Madam  and  liege  lady !  it  becomes  the  great 
nobles  of  the  Crimean  realm  to  show  every  outward  sign  of  re- 
spect to  the  wearer  of  the  Crown,  whoever  that  may  be.  We 
testify  to  our  own  nobility  in  acknowledging  yours.  The  bold 
Hogginarmo  bends  the  knee  to  the  first  aristocracy  of  his 
country." 

Rosalba  said  the  bold  Count  of  Hogginarmo  was  un- 
commonly kind  ;  but  she  felt  afraid  of  him,  even  while  he  was 
kneeling:,  and  his  eves  scowled  at  her  from  between  his  whiskers 
which  grew  up  to  them. 

"The  first  Count  of  th  Empire,  madam,"'  he  went  on, 
"  salutes  the  Sovereign.  The  Prince  addressed  himself  to  the 
not  more  noble  lady  !  Madam,  my  hand  is  free,  and  I  offer  it, 
and  my  heart  and  my  sword,  to  your  service  !  My  three  wives 
lie  buried  in  my  ancestral  vaults.  The  third  perished  but  a 
year  since  ;  and  this  heart  pines  for  a  consort !  Deign  to  be 
mine,  and  I  swear  to  bring  to  your  bridal  table  the  head  of 
King  Padella,  the  eyes  and  nose  of  his  son  Prince  Bulbo,  the 
light  hand  and  ears  of  the  usurping  Sovereign  of  Paflagonia, 
which  country  shall  henceforth  be  an  appanage  to  your — to 
our  Crown  !  Say  yes  ;  Hogginarmo  is  not  accustomed  to  be 
denied.  Indeed  I  cannot  contemplate  the  possibility  of  a  re- 
fusal ;  for  frightful  will  be  the  result ;  dreadful  the  murders  ; 
furious  the  devastation  ;  horrible  the  tyranny  ;  tremendous  the 
tortures,  misery,  taxation,  which  the  people  of  this  realm  will 


THE  ROSE  Ai\D  THE  RING.  213 

endure,  if  Hogginarmo's  wrath  be  aroused  !  I  see  consent  in 
your  Majesty's  lovely  eyes — their  glances  fill  my  soul  with 
rapture  !  " 

"  Oh,  sir  !  "  Rosalba  said,  withdrawing  her  hand  in  great 
fright.  "  Your  lordship  is  exceedingly  kind  ;  but  I  am  sorry 
to  tell  you  that  I  have  a  prior  attachment  to  a  young  gentle- 
man by  the  name  of — Prince — Giglio — and  never — never  can 
marry  any  one  but  him." 

Who  can  describe  Hogginarmo's  wrath  at  this  remark  .'' 
Rising  up  from  the  ground,  he  ground  his  teeth  so  that  fire 
flashed  out  of  his  mouth,  from  which  at  the  same  time  issued 
remarks  and  language,  so  loud,  violent,  and  improper,  that  this 
pen  shall  never  repeat  them  !  "  R-r-r-r-r-r — Rejected  !  Fiends 
and  perdition  !  The  bold  Hogginarmo  rejected  !  All  the 
world  shall  hear  of  my  rage ;  and  you,  madam,  you  above  all 
shall  rue  it !  "  And  kicking  the  two  negroes  before  him,  he 
rushed  away,  his  whiskers  streaming  in  the  wind. 

Her  Majesty's  Privy  Council  was  in  a  dreadful  panic  when 
they  saw  Hogginarmo  issue  from  the  royal  presence  in  such 
a  towering  rage,  making  footballs  of  the  poor  negroes — a  panic 
which  the  events  justified.  They  marched  off  from  Hoggin- 
armo's park  very  crestfallen  ;  and  in  another  half-hour  they 
were  met  by  that  rapacious  chieftain  with  a  few  of  his  followers, 
who  cut,  slashed,  charged,  whacked,  banged,  and  pommelled 
amongst  them,  took  the  queen  prisoner,  and  drove  the  Army 
of  Fidelity  to  I  don't  where. 

Poor  Queen  !  Hogginarmo,  her  conqueror,  would  not  con- 
descend to  see  her.  "  Get  a  horse-van  !  "  he  said  to  his  grooms, 
"  clap  the  hussey  into  it,  and  send  her,  with  my  compliments, 
to  his  Majesty  King  Padella." 

Along  with  his  lovely  prisoner,  Hogginarmo  sent  a  letter 
full  of  servile  compliments  and  loathsome  flatteries  to  King 
Padella,  for  whose  life,  and  that  of  his  royal  famil}^,  the  hypo- 
critical humbug  pretended  to  offer  the  most  fulsome  prayers. 
And  Hogginarmo  promised  speedily  to  pay  his  humble  homage 
at  his  august  master's  throne,  of  which  he  begged  leave  to  be 
counted  the  most  loyal  and  constant  defender.  Such  a  wary 
old  bird  as  King  Padella  was  not  to  be  caught  by  Master 
Hogginarmo's  chaff,  and  we  shall  hear  presently  how  the  tyrant 
treated  this  upstart  vassal.  No,  no  ;  depend  on't,  two  such 
rogues  do  not  trust  one  another. 

So  this  poor  queen  was  laid  in  the  straw  like  Margery 
Daw,  and  driven  along  in  the  dark  ever  so  many  miles  to  the 
Court,  where  King  Padella  had  now  arrived,  having  vanquished 


214 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


all  his  enemies,  murdered  most  of  them,  and  brought  some  of 
the  richest  into  captivity  with  him  for  the  purpose  of  torturing 
them  and  finding  out  where  they  had  hidden  their  money. 

Rosalba  heard  their  shrieks  and  groans  in  the  dungeon  in 
which  she  was  thrust :  a  most  awful  black  hole,  full  of  bats, 
rats,  mice,  toads,  frogs,  mosquitoes,  bugs,  ffeas,  serpents,  and 
every  kind  of  horror.  No  light  was  let  into  it,  otherwise  the 
jailers  might  have  seen  her  and  fallen  in  love  with  her,  as  an 
owl  that  lived  up  in  the  roof  of  the  tower  did,  and  a  cat,  you 
know,  who  can  see  in  the  dark,  and  having  set  its  green  eyes 
on  Rosalba,  never  would  be  got  to  go  back  to  the  turnkey's 
wife  to  whom  it  belonged.  And  the  toads  in  the  dungeon 
came  and  kissed  her  feet,  and  the  vipers  wound  round  her  neck 
and  arms,  and  never  hurt  her,  so  charming  was  this  poor 
Princess  in  the  midst  of  her  misfortunes. 

At  last  when  she  had  been  kept  in  this  place  ever  so  long, 
the  door  of  the  dungeon  opened,  and  this  terrible  King 
Padella  came  in. 

But  what  he  said  and  did  must  be  reserved  for  another 
chapter,  as  we  must  now  back  to  Prince  Giglio. 


XIV. 

WHAT   BECAME   OF   GIGLIO. 


The  idea  of  marrying  such  an  old  creature  as  Grufifanufif, 
frightened  Prince  Giglio  so,  that  he  ran  up  to  his  room,  packey- 
his  trunks,  fetched  in  a  couple  of  porters,  and  was  off  to  the 
diligence  office  in  a  twinkling. 

It  was  well  that  he  was  so  quick  in  his  operations,  did  not 
dawdle  over  his  luggage,  and  took  the  early  coach :  for  as 
soon  as  .the  mistake  about  Prince  Bulbo  was  found  out,  that 
cruel  Glumboso  sent  up  a  couple  of  policemen  to  Prince 
Giglio's  room,  with  orders  that  he  should  be  carried  to  Newgate, 
and  his  head  taken  off  before  twelve  o'clock.  But  the  coach 
was  out  of  the  Paflagonian  dominions  before  two  o'clock  ;  and 
I  dare  say  the  express  that  was  sent  after  Prince  Giglio  did  not 
ride  very  quick,  for  many  people  in  Paflagonia  had  a  regard  for 
Giglio,  as  the  son  of  their  old  sovereign  :  a  prince  who,  with  all 
his  weaknesses,  was   very   much   better   than  his  brother,  the 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING.  21? 

usurping,  lazy,  careless,  passionate,  tyrannical  reigning  monarch. 
That  Prince  busied  himself  with  the  balls,  fetes,  masquerades, 
hunting-parties  and  so  forth,  which  he  thought  proper  to  give 
on  the  occasion  of  his  daughter's  marriage  to  Prince  Bulbo  ;  and 
let  us  trust  was  not  sorry  in  his  own  heart  that  his  brother's  son 
had  escaped  the  scaffold. 

It  was  very  cold  weather,  and  the  snow  was  on  the  ground, 
and  Giglio,  who  gave  his  name  as  simple  Mr.  Giles,  was  very 
glad  to  get  a  comfortable  place  in  the  coupe  of  the  diligence, 
where  he  sat  with  the  conductor  and  another  gentleman.  At 
the  first  stage  from  Blombodinga,  as  they  stopped  to  change 
horses,  there  came  up  to  the  diligence  a  very  ordinary,  vulgar- 
looking  woman,  with  a  bag  under  her  arm,  who  asked  for  a 
place.  All  the  inside  places  were  taken,  and  the  young  woman 
was  informed  that  if  she  wished  to  travel .  she  must  go  upon  the 
roof ;  and  the  passenger  inside  with  Giglio  (a  rude  person,  I 
should  think,)  put  his  head  out  of  the  window  and  said,  "  Nice 
weather  for  travelling  outside  !  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  journey, 
my  dear."  The  poor  woman  coughed  ver}'  much,  and  Giglio 
pitied  her.  "  I  will  give  up  my  place  to  her,"  says  he,  "  rather 
than  she  should  travel  in  the  cold  air  with  that  horrid  cough." 
On  which  the  vulgar  traveller  said,  "  You\i  keep  her  warm,  I 
am  sure,  if  it's  a  ftii/ff  she  wants."  On  which  Giglio  pulled  his 
nose,  boxed  his  ears,  hit  him  in  the  eye,  and  gave  tl^is  vulgar 
person  a  warning  never  to  call  him  umff  ?Lg^.m. 

Then  he  sprang  up  gayly  on  to  the  roof  of  the  diligence,  and 
made  himself  very  comfortable  in  the  straw.  The  vulgar  trav- 
eller got  down  only  at  the  next  station,  and  Giglio  took  his 
place  again,  and  talked  to  the  person  next  to  him.  She  ap- 
peared to  be  a  most  agreeable,  well-informed,  and  entertaining 
female.  They  travelled  together  till  night,  and  she  gave  Giglio 
all  sorts  of  things  out  of  the  bag  which  she  carried,  and  which 
indeed  seemed  to  contain  the  most  wonderful  collection  of 
articles.  He  was  thirsty — out  there  came  a  pint-bottle  of  Bass's 
pale  ale,  and  a  silver  mug  !  Hungry — she  took  out  a  cold  fowl, 
some  slices  of  ham,  bread,  salt,  and  a  most  delicious  piece  of 
cold  plum-pudding,  and  a  little  glass  of  brandy  afterwards. 

As  they  travelled,  this  plain  looking,  queer  woman  talked 
to  Giglio  on  a  variety  of  subjects,  in  which  the  poor  Prince 
showed  his  ignorance  as  much  as  she  did  her  capacity.  He 
owned,  with  many  blushes,  how  ignorant  he  was  :  on  which  the 
lady  said,  "  My  dear  Gigl — my  good  Mr.  Giles,  you  are  a  young 
man,  and  have  plenty  of  time  before  you.  You  have  nothing 
to   do  but  to  improve  yourself.     Who  knows  but  that  you  may 


2l6 


rHE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


find  use  xoryour  knowledge  some  day  ? — when — when  you  maj 
be  wanted  at  home,  as  some  people  may  be." 

"  Good  heavens,  madam  !  "  says,  he,  "  do  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  I  know  a  number  of  funny  things,"  says  the  lady.  "  I 
have  been  at  some  people's  christenings,  and  turned  away  from 
other  folks'  doors.  I  have  seen  some  people  spoilt  by  good 
fortune,  and  others,  as  I  hope,  improved  by  hardship.  I  advise 
you  to  stay  at  the  town  where  the  coach  stops  for  the  night. 
Stay  there  and  study,  and  remember  your  old  friend  to  whom 
you  were  kind." 

"  And  who  is  my  old  friend  ?  "  asked  Giglio. 

"  When  you  want  anything,"  says  the  lady,  "  look  in  th.'S 
bag,  which  I  leave  to  you  as  a  present,  and  be  grateful  to ' 

"  To  whom,  madam  ?  "  says  he. 

"  To  the  Fairy  Blackstick,"  says  the  lady,  flying  out  of  the 
window.  And  when  Giglio  asked  the  conductor  if  he  knew 
where  the  lady  was  ? — 

"  What  lady  ?  "  says  the  man.  *'  There  has  been  no  lady  in 
this  coach,  except  the  old  woman  who  got  out  at  the  last  stage." 
And  Giglio  thought  he  had  been  dreaming.  But  there  was  the 
bag  which  Blackstick  had  gi\-en  him  lying  on  his  lap  ;  and 
when  he  came  to  the  town  he  took  it  in  his  hand  and  went  into 
the  inn. 

They  gave  him  a  very  bad  bedroom,  and  Giglio,  when  he 
woke  in  the  morning,  fancying  himself  in  the  Royal  Palace 
at  home,  called,  "John,  Charles,  Thomas!  My  chocolate — ■ 
my  dressing-gown — my  slippers  ;  "  but  nobody  came.  There 
was  no  bell,  so  he  went  and  bawled  out  for  waiter  on  the  top  of 
the  stairs. 

The  landlady  came  up,  looking — looking  like  this — 


THE  ROSE  AND   7 HE  KING. 


217 


"What  are  you  a-hollaring  and  a-bellaring  for  liere,  young 
man  ?  "  says  she. 

"  There's  no  warm  water — no  servants  ;  my  boots  are  not 
even  cleaned." 

"  He  !  he  !  Clean  'em  yourself,"  says  the  landlady.  "You 
young  students  give  yourselves  pretty  airs.  I  never  heard 
such  impudence." 

"  I'll  quit  the  house  this  instant,"  says  Giglio. 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  young  man.  Pay  your  bill  and  be 
off.  All  my  rooms  is  wanted  for  gentlefolks,  and  not  for  such 
as  you." 

"  You  may  well  keep  the  '  Bear  Inn,'  "  said  Giglio.  "  You 
should  have  yourself  painted  as  the  sign." 

The  landlady  of  the  "  Bear  "  went  away  groivling.  And 
Giglio  returned  to  his  room,  where  the  first  thing  he  saw  was 
the  fairy  bag  lying  on  the  table,  which  seemed  to  give  a  little 
hop  as  he  came  in.  "  I  hope  it  has  some  breakfast  in  it,"  says 
Giglio,  "for  I  have  only  a  very  little  money  left."  But  on 
opening  the  bag,  what  do  you  think  w'as  there  .-*  A  blacking- 
brush  and  a  pot  of  Warren's  jet,  and  on  the  pot  was  written, 

"  Poor  young  men  their  boots  must  blacks 
Use  me  and  cork  me  and  put  me  back." 

So  Giglio  laughed  and  blacked  his  boots,  and  put  back  the 
brush  and  the  bottle  into  the  bag. 

When  he  had  done  dressing  himself,  the  bag  gave  another 
little  hop,  and  he  went  to  it  and  took  out — 

1.  A  table-cloth  and  a  napkin. 

2.  A  sugar-basin  full  of  the  best  loaf-sugar. 

4,  6,  8,  10.  Two  forks,  two  teaspoons,  two  knives,  and  a 

pair  of  sugar-tongs,  and  a  butter-knife,  all  marked  G. 
II,  12,  13.  A  teacup,  saucer,  and  slop-basin. 

14.  A  jug  full  of  delicious  cream. 

15.  A  canister  with  black  tea  and  green. 

16.  A  large  tea-urn  and  boiling  water. 

17.  A  saucepan,  containing  three  eggs  nicely  done. 

18.  A  quarter  of  a  pound  of  best  Epping  butter. 

19.  A  brown  loaf. 

And  if  he  hadn't  enough  now  for  a  good  breakfast,  I  should 
like  to  know  who  ever  had  one  ? 

Giglio,  having  had  his  breakfast,  popped  all  the  things  back 
into  the  bag,  and  went  out  looking  for  lodgings.  I  forgot  to 
say  that  this  celebrated  university  town  was  called  Bosforo. 

He  took  a  modest  lodging  opposite   the  Schools,  paid  his 


2i8  THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 

bill  at  the  inn,  and  went  to  his  apartment  with  his  trunk,  carpefc 
bag,  and  not  forgetting,  we  may  be  sure,  his  other  bag. 

When  he  opened  his  trunk,  which  the  day  before  he  had 
filled  with  his  best  clothes,  he  found  it  contained  only  books. 
And  in  the  first  of  them  which  he  opened  there  was  written — • 

"  Clothes  for  the  back,  books  for  the  head : 

Read,  and  remember  them  when  they  are  read.' 

And  in  his  bag,  when  Giglio  looked  in  it,  he  found  a  student's 
cap  and  gown,  a  writing-book  full  of  paper,  an  inkstand,  pens, 
and  a  Johnson's  dictionary,  which  was  very  useful  to  him,  as  his 
spelling  had  been  sadly  neglected. 

So  he  sat  down  and  worked  away,  very,  very  hard,  for  a 
whole  year,  during  which  "  Mr.  Giles  "  was  quite  an  example 
to  all  the  students  in  the  University  of  Bosforo.  He  never  got 
into  any  riots  or  disturbances.  The  professors  all  spoke  well 
of  him,  and  the  students  liked  him  too  ;  so  that  when  at  ex- 
amination he  took  all  the  prizes,  viz.  : — 

'  The  Spelling  Prize  f  The  P>ench  Prize 

The  Writing  Prize  j  The  Arithmetical  Prize 

The  History  Prize  ]  The  Latin  Prize 

The  Catechism  Prize  [  The  Good  Conduct  Prize, 

all  his  fellow-students  said,  "  Hurray  !  Hurray  for  Giles  !  Giles 
is  the  boy — the  student's  joy !  Hurray  for  Giles  !  "  And  he 
brought  quite  a  quantity  of  medals,  crowns,  books,  and  tokens 
of  distinction  home  to  his  lodgings. 

One  day  after  the  Examinations,  as  he  was  diverting  himself 
at  a  coffee-house  with  two  friends — (Did  I  tell  you  that  in  his 
bag,  every  Saturday  night,  he  found  just  enough  to  pay  his 
bills,  with  a  guinea  over  for  pocket-money!  Didn't  I  tell  you  ? 
Well,  he  did,  as  sure  as  twice  twenty  makes  forty-five) — he 
chanced  to  look  in  the  Bosforo  Chro?ndc,  and  read  off  quite 
easily  (for  he  could  spell,  read,  and  write  the  longest  words 
now)  the  following — 

"  Romantic  Circumstance. — One  of  the  most  extraordi- 
nary adventures  that  we  have  ever  heard  has  set  the  neighbor- 
ing country  of  Crim  Tartary  in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 

"  It  will  be  remembered  that  when  the  present  revered 
sovereign  of  Crim  Tartary,  his  Majesty  King  Padella,  took 
possession  of  the  throne,  after  having  vanquished,  in  the  terrific 
battle  of  Blunderbusco,  the  late  King  Cavolfiore,  that  Prince's 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RHVO.  219 

only  child,  the  Princess  Rosalba,  was  not  found  in  the  royal 
palace,  of  which  King  Padella  took  possession,  and,  it  was  said, 
had  strayed  into  the  forest  (being  abandoned  by  all  her  attend- 
ants), where  she  had  been  eaten  up  by  those  ferocious  lions, 
the  last  pair  of  which  were  captured  some  time  since,  and 
brought  to  the  Tower,  after  killing  several  hundred  persons. 

"  His  Majesty  King  Padella,  who  has  the  kindest  heart  in 
the  world,  was  grieved  at  the  accident  which  had  occurred  to 
the  harmless  little  Princess,  for  whom  his  Majesty's  known 
benevolence  would  certainly  have  provided  a  fitting  establish- 
ment. But  her  death  seemed  to  be  certain.  The  mangled 
remains  of  a  cloak,  and  a  little  shoe,  were  found  in  the  forest, 
during  a  hunting-party,  in  which  the  intrepid  sovereign  of  Crim 
Tartary  slew  two  of  the  lions'  cubs  with  his  own  spear.  And 
these  interesting  relics  of  an  innocent  little  creature  were  car- 
ried home  and  kept  by  their  finder,  the  Baron  Spinachi,  formerly 
an  officer  in  Cavolfiore's  household.  The  Baron  was  disgraced 
in  consequence  of  his  known  legitimist  opinions,  and  has  lived 
for  some  time,  in  the  humble  capacity  of  a  wood-cutter,  in  a 
forest  on  the  outskirts  of  the  Kingdom  of  Crim  Tartary. 

"  Last  Tuesday  week  Baron  Spinachi  and  a  number  of  gen 
tleman  attached  to  the  former  dynasty  appeared  in  arms,  cry- 
ing, '  God  save  P.osalba,  the  First  Queen  of  Crim  Tartary  ! ' 
and  surrounding  a  lady  whom  report  describes  as  '  beautiftd 
exceedingly.'  Her  history  may  be  authentic,  is  certainly  most 
romantic. 

"  The  personage  calling  herself  Rosalba  states  that  she  was 
brought  out  of  the  forest,  fifteen  years  since,  by  a  lady  in  a  car 
drawn  by  dragons  (this  account  is  certainly  ijnprobable),  that 
she  was  left  in  the  Palace  Garden  of  Blombodinga,  where  her 
Royal  Highness  the  Princess  Angelica,  now  married  to  his 
Royal  Highness  Bulbo,  Crown  Prince  of  Crim  Tartary, 
found  the  child,  and,  with  that  elegant  benevolence  which 
has  always  distinguished  the  heiress  of  the  throne  of  Paflagonia, 
,  gave  the  little  outcast  a  shelter  and  a  hojne  /  Her  parentage 
not  being  known,  and  her  garb  very  humble,  the  foundling  was 
educated  in  the  Palace  in  a  menial  capacity,  under  the  name 
of  Betsinda. 

"  She  did  not  give  satisfaction,  and  was  dismissed,  carrying 
with  her,  certainly,  part  of  a  mantle  and  a  shoe  which  she  had 
on  when  first  found.  According  to  her  statement  she  quitted 
Blombodinga  about  a  year  ago,  since  which  time  she  has  been 
with  the  Spinachi  family.  On  the  very  same  morning  the 
Prince  Giglio,   nephew  to   the    King  of    Paflagonia,   a  young 


22? 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


Prince  whose  character  for  talent  ?in6.  o?-der  \Mer&,  to  sa^-  tidth, 
nojie  of  the  /lig/iest,  also  quitted  Blombodinga,  and  has  not  been 
since  heard  of  !  " 

"  What  an  extraordinary  story  !  "  said  Smitli  and  Jones, 
two  young  students,  Giglio's  especial  friends. 

"  Ha  !  what  is  this  ?  "  Giglio  went  on,  reading  : 

"  Second  Edition,  Express. — We  hear  that  the  troop  un 
der  Baron  Spinachi  has  been  surrounded,  and  utterly  routed 
by  General  Count  Hogginarmo,  and  the  soi-disant  Princess  is 
sent  a  prisoner  to  the  capital. 

"  University  News. — Yesterda}^,  at  the  Schools,  the  dis- 
tinguished young  student,  Mr.  Giles,  read  a  Latin  oration,  and 
was  complimented  by  the  Chancellor  of  Bosforo,  Dr.  Prugnaro, 
with  the  highest  University  honor — the  wooden  spoon." 

"  Never  mind  that  stuff,"  says  Giles,  greatly  disturbed. 
"  Come  home  with  me,  my  friends.  Gallant  Smith  !  intrepid 
Jones  !  friends  of  my  studies — partakers  of  my  academic  toils 
— I  have  that  to  tell  shall  astonish  your  honest  minds." 

"  Go  it,  old  boy  !  "  cried  the  impetuous  Smith. 

"  Talk  away,  my  buck  !  "  says  Jones,  a  lively  fellow. 

With  an  air  of  indescribable  dignity,  Giglio  checked  their 
natural,  but  no  more  seemly,  familiarity.  "Jones,  Smith,  my 
good  friends,"  said  the  Prince,  disguise  is  henceforth  useless  ; 
I  am  no  more  the  humble  student  Giles,  I  am  the  descendant 
of  a  royal  line." 

^'-  At  avis  edite  7-egihHs.  I  know,  old  co — ,"  cried  Jones.  He 
was  going  to  say  "  old  cock,"  but  a  Hash  from  the  royal  eye 
again  awed  him. 

"  Friends,"  continued  the  Prince,  "  I  am  that  Giglio  :  I  am, 
in  fact,  Paflagonia.  Rise,  Smith,  and  kneel  not  in  the  public 
street.  Jones,  thou  true  heart !  My  faithless  uncle,  when  I 
was  a  baby,  filched  from  me  that  brave  crown  my  father  left 
me,  bred  me,  all  young  and  careless  of  my  rights,  like  unto 
hapless  Hamlet,  Prince  of  Denmark  ;  and  had  I  any  thoughts 
about  my  wrongs,  soothed  me  with  promises  of  near  redress.  I 
should  espouse  his  daughter,  young  Angelica ;  we  two  indeed 
should  reign  in  Paflagonia.  His  words  were  false — false  as 
Angelica's  heart ! — false  as  Angelica's  hair,  color,  front  teeth  ! 
She  looked  with  her  skew  eyes  u'^on  young  Bulbo,  Crim  Tar- 
tary's  stupid  heir,  and  she  preferred  him.  'Twas  then  I  turned 
my  eyes  upon  Betsinda — Rosalba,  as  she  now  is.  And  I  saw 
in  her  the  blushing  sum  of  all  perfection  ;  the  pink  of  maiden 
modesty ;  the  nymph  that  my  fond  heart  had  ever  woo'd  in 
dreams,"  cScc,  ike. 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING  221 

(I  don't  give  this  speech,  which  was  very  fine,  Dut  very 
long ;  and  though  Smith  and  Jones  knew  nothing  about  the 
circumstances,  my  dear  reader  does  :  so  I  go  on.) 

The  Prince  and  his  young  friends  hastened  home  to  his 
apartment,  highly  excited  by  tlie  intelligence,  as  no  doubt  by 
the  7-oyal  narrator  s  admirable  manner  of  recounting  it  ;  and 
they  ran  up  to  his  room,  where  he  had  worked  so  hard  at  his 
books. 

On  his  writing-table  was  his  bag,  grown  so  long  that  the 
Prince  could  not  help  remarking  it.  He  went  to  it,  opened  it, 
and  what  do  you  think  he  found  in  it  ? 

A  splendid  long  gold-handled,  red-velvet-scabbarded  cut- 
and-thrust  sword,  and  on  the  sheath  was  embroidered  "  Ros- 
ALBA  FOR  Ever  !  " 

He  drew  out  the  sword,  which  flashed  and  illuminated  the 
whole  room,  and  called  out  "  Rosalba  for  ever  !  "  Smith  and 
Jones  following  him,  but  quite  respectfully  this  time,  and  taking 
the  time  from  his  Royal  Highness. 

And  now  his  trunk  opened  with  a  sudden  pong,  and  out 
there  came  three  ostrich  feathers  in  a  gold  crown,  surrounding 
a  beautiful  shining  steel  helmet,  a  cuirass,  a  pair  of  spurs, 
finally  a  complete  suit  of  armor. 

The  books  on  Giglio's  shelves  we-re  all  gone.  Where  there 
had  been  some  great  dictionaries,  Giglio's  friends  found  two 
pairs  of  jack-boots  labelled  "  Lieutenant  Smith,"  "  — —  Jones, 
Esqs.,"  which  fitted  them  to  a  nicety.  Besides,  there  were  hel- 
mets, back  and  breast  plates,  swords,  &c.,  just  like  in  Mr.  G. 
P.  R.  James's  novels  ;  and  that  evening  three  cavaliers  might 
have  been  seen  issuing  from  the  gates  of  Bosforo,  in  whom  the 
porters,  proctors,  &c.,  never  thought  of  recognizing  the  young 
Prince  and  his  friends. 

They  got  horses  at  a  livery-stable-keeper's,  and  never  drew 
bridle  until  they  reached  the  last  town  on  the  frontier  before 
you  come  to  Crim  Tartary.  Here,  as  their  animals  were  tired, 
and  the  cavaliers  hungry,  they  stopped  and  refreshed  at  an 
hostel.  I  could  make  a  chapter  of  this  if  I  were  like  some 
writers,  but  I  like  to  cram  my  measure  tight  down,  you  see,  and 
give  you  a  great  deal  for  your  money.  And,  in  a  word,  they 
had  some  bread-and-cheese  and  ale  up  stairs  on  the  balcony  of 
the  inn.  As  they  were  drinking,  drums  and  trumpets  sounded 
nearer  and  nearer,  the  marketplace  was  filled  with  soldiers, 
and  his  Royal  Highness  looking  forth,  recognized  the  Pafla- 
gonian  banners,  and  \Xy-  '^■'flagonian  national  air  which  the 
bands  were  playing. 


222  THE  ROSE  A  N't.    THE  RTNU. 

The  troops  all  made  for  the  tavern  at  once,  and  as  they 
came  up,  Giglio  exclaimed,  on  beholding  their  leader,  "  Whom 
do  I  see  ?  Yes  ! — no  !  It  is,  it  is ! — Phoo ! — No,  it  can't  be  ! 
Yes  !  it  is  my  friend,  my  gallant,  faithful  veteran,  Captain 
Hedzoff !  Ho,  Hedzoff !  Knowest  thou  not  thy  Prince,  thy 
Giglio  ?  Good  Corporal,  methinks  we  once  were  friends.  Ha, 
Sergeant,  an  my  memory  serves  me  right,  we  have  had  many  a 
bout  at  singlestick." 

"  I'faith,  we  have  a  many,  good  my  lord,"  says  the  Ser- 
geant. 

"  Tell  me  what  means  this  mighty  armament,"  continued 
his  Royal  Highness  from  the  balcony,  "  and  whither  march  my 
Paflagonians  t  " 

Hedzoff's  head  fell.  "  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  we  march  as 
the  allies  of  great  Padella,  Crim  Tartary's  monarch." 

"  Crim  Tartary's  usurper,  gallant  Hedzoff !  Crim  Tartary's 
grim  tyrant,  honest  Hedzoff!  "  said  the  Prince,  on  the  balcony, 
quite  sarcastically. 

"  A  soldier,  Prince,  must  needs  obey  his  orders  :  mine  are 
to  help  his  Majesty  Padella.  And  also  (though  alack  that  I 
should  say  it  !)  to  seize  wherever  I  should  light  upon  him-^ — " 

"  First  catch  your  hare  !  ha,  Hedzoff !  "  exclaimed  his  Royal 
Highness. 

" — On  the  body  of  Giglio,  whilom  Prince  of  Paflagonia," 
Hedzoff  went  on,  with  indescribable  emotion.  "  My  Prince, 
give  up  your  sword  without  ado.  Look !  we  are  thirty  thousand 
men  to  one  !  " 

"  Give  up  my  sword  !  Giglio  give  up  his  sword  !  "  cried 
the  Prince  ;  and  stepping  well  forward  on  to  the  balcony,  the 
royal  youth,  without  preparation,  delivered  a  sjDeech  so  mag- 
nificent, that  no  report  can  do  justice  to  it.  It  was  all  in 
blank  verse  (in  which,  from  this  time,  he  invariably  spoke,  as 
more  becoming  his  majestic  station).  It  lasted  for  three  days 
and  three  nights,  during  which  not  a  single  person  who  heard 
him  was  tired,  or  remarked  the  difference  between  daylight 
and  dark.  The  soldiers  only  cheering  tremendously  when 
occasionally — once  in  nine  hours — the  Prince  paused  to  suck 
an  orange,  which  Jones  took  out  of  the  T^ag.  He  explained, 
in  terms  which  we  say  we  shall  not  attempt  to  convey,  the 
whole  history  of  the  previous  transaction,  and  his  determi- 
nation not  only  not  to  give  up  his  sword,  but  to  assume  his 
rightful  crown  ;  and  at  the  end  of  this  extraordinary,  this  truly 
gigantic  effort,  Captain  Hedzoff  flung  up  his  helmet  and  cried, 
"  Hurray  !     Hurray  !     Long  live  -K-ing  Giglio  1 ' 


TO  ARMS ! 

14* 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING 


223 


Such  were  the  consequences  of  having  employed  his  time 
well  at  college  ! 

When  the  excitement  had  ceased,  beer  was  ordered  out  for 
the  army,  and  their  Sovereign  himself  did  not  disdain  a  little  ! 
And  now  it  was  with  some  alarm  that  Captain  Hedzoff  told  him 
his  division  was  only  the  advanced  guard  of  the  Paflagonian 
contingent  hastening  to  King  Padella's  aid — the  main  force 
being  a  day's  march  in  the  rear  under  His  Royal  Highness 
Prince  Bulbo. 

"  We  will  wait  here,  good  friend,  to  beat  the  Prince,"  his 
Majesty  said,  and  then  will  make  his  royal  Father  wince." 


XV. 

WE   RETURN    TO    ROSALBA. 


King  Padella  made  very  similar  proposals  to  Rosalba  to 
those  which  she  had  received  from  the  various  Princes  who, 
as  we  have  seen,  had  fallen  in  love  with  her.  His  Majesty  was 
a  widower,  and  offered  to  marry  his  fair  captive  that  instant, 
but  she  declined  his  invitation  in  her  usual  polite  gentle  manner, 
stating  that  Prince  Giglio  was  her  love,  and  that  any  other 
union  was  out  of  the  question.  Having  tried  tears  and  sup- 
plications in  vain,  this  violent-tempered  monarch  menaced  her 
with  threats  and  tortures  ;  but  she  declared  she  would  rather 
suffer  all  these  than  accept  the  hand  of  her  father's  murderer, 
who  left  her  finally,  uttering  the-  most  awful  imprecations,  and 
bidding  her  prepare  for  death  on  the  following  morning. 

All  night  long  the  King  spent  in  advising  how  he  should 
get  rid  of  this  obdurate  young  creature.  Cutting  off  her  head 
was  much  too  easy  a  death  for  her  ;  hanging  was  so  common 
in  his  Majesty's  dominions  that  it  no  longer  afforded  him  any 
sport :  finally,  he  bethought  himself  of  a  pair  of  fierce  lions 
which  had  lately  been  sent  to  him  as  presents,  and  he  deter- 
mined, with  these  ferocious  brutes,  to  hunt  poor  Rosalba  down. 
Adjoining  his  castle  was  an  amphitheatre  where  the  Prince 
indulged  iu  bull-baiting,  rat-hunting,  and  other  ferocious  sports. 
The  two  lions  were  kept  in  a  cage  under  this  place  ;  their 
roaring  might  be  heard  over  the  whole  city,  the  inhabitants  of 
which,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  thronged  in  numbers  to  see  a  poor 
young  lady  gobbled  up  by  two  wild  beasts. 

The    King   took   his    place    in   the    royal   box,   having   the 


224 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING- 


officers  of  the  Court  around  and  the  Count  Hogginarmo  by  his 
side,  upon  whom  his  Majesty  was  observed  to  look  very  fiercely, 
the  fact  is  royal  spies  had  told  the  monarch  of  Hogginarmo's 
behavior,  his  proposals  to  Rosalba,  and  his  offer  to  fight  for 
the  Crown,  Black  as  thunder  looked  King  Padella  at  this 
proud  noble,  as  they  sat  in  the  front  seats  of  the  theatre 
waiting  to  see  the  tragedy  whereof  poor  Rosalba  was  to  be  the 
heroine. 

At  length  the  Princess  was  brought  out  in  her  night-gown, 
with  all  her  beautiful  hair  falling  down  her  back,  and  looking 
so  pretty  that  even  the  beef-eaters  and  keepers  of  the  wild 
animals  wept  plentifully  at  seeing  her.  And  she  walked  with 
her  poor  little  feet  (only  luckily  the  arena  was  covered  with 
sawdust),  and  went  and  leaned  up  against  a  great  stone  in  the 
centre  of  the  amphitheatre,  round  which  the  Court  and  the 
people  were  seated  in  boxes,  with  bars  before  them,  for  fear 
of  the  great,  fierce,  red-maned,  black-throated,  long  tailed, 
roaring,  bellowing,  rushing  lions. 

And  now  the  gates  were  opened,  and  with  a  *'  Wurrawar- 
rurawarar  !  "  two  great  lean,  hungry,  roaring  lions  rushed  out  of 
their  den,  where  they  had  been  kept  for  three  weeks  on  noth- 
ing but  a  little  toast-and-water,  and  dashed  straight  up  to  the 
stone  where  poor  Rosalba  was  waiting.  Commend  her  to  your 
patron  saints,  all  you  kind  people,  for  she  is  in  a  dreadful  state. 

There  was  a  hum  and  a  buzz  all  through  the  circus,  and 
the  fierce  King  Padella  even  felt  a  little  compassion.  But 
Count  Hogginarmo,  seated  by  his  Majesty,  roared  out, 
'  Hurray  !  Now  for  it !  Soo-soo-soo  !  "  that  nobleman  being 
uncommonly  angry  still  at  Rosalba's  refusal  of  him. 

But,  O  strange  event !  O  remarkable  circumstance  !  O 
extraordinary  coincidence,  which  I  am  sure  none  of  you  could 
by  any  possibllily  have  divined  !  When  the  lions  came  to  Ros- 
alba, instead  of  devouring  her  with  their  great  teeth,  it  was 
with  kisses  they  gobbled  her  up  !  They  licked  her  pretty  feet, 
they  nuzzled  their  noses  in  her  lap,  they  moo'd,  they  seemed  to 
say,  "  Dear,  dear  sister,  don't  you  recollect  your  brothers  in 
the  forest  ? "  And  she  put  her  pretty  white  arms  round  their 
tawny  necks,  and  kissed  them. 

King  Padella  was  immensely  astonished.  The  Count  Hog- 
ginarmo was  extremely  disgusted.  "  Pooh  !  "  the  Count  cried, 
"Gammon  !  "  exclaimed  his  lordship.  "  These  lions  are  tame 
beasts  come  from  WombwelTs  or  Astley's.  It  is  a  shame  to 
put  people  off  in  (his- way.  I  believe  they  are  little  boys 
dressed  up  in  door-mats.      They  are  no  lions  at  all."" 


PJitl^Cli  GlULiu's  bPEKCli  TO  THE  ARMi'. 


THE  KOi>E  AAU   THE  R/AG.  225 

"  Ha  !  "  said  the  King,  "  you  dare  to  say  '  Gammon  ! '  to 
vOLir  Sovereign,  do  you  ?  These  lions  are  no  lions  at  all,  aren't 
they  ?  Ho,  my  beef-eaters  !  Ho  !  my  body  guard  !  Take 
this  Count  Hogginarmo  and  fling  him  into  the  circus  !  Give 
him  a  sword  and  buckler,  let  him  keep  his  armor  on  and  his 
weather-eye  out,  and  fight  these  lions." 

The  haughty  Hogginarmo  laid  down  his  opera-glass  and 
looked  scowling  round  at  the  King  and  his  attendants. 
"  Touch  me  not,  dogs  !  "  he  said,  "  or  by  St.  Nicholas  the  El- 
der, I  will  gore  you!  Your  Majesty  thinks  Hogginarmo  is 
afraid  ?  No,  not  of  a  hundred  thousand  lions  !  Follow  me 
down  into  the  circus.  King  Padella,  and  match  thyself  against 
one  of  yon  brutes.  Thou  darest  not  ?  Let  them  both  come 
on  then  !  " 

And  opening  a  grating  of  the  box,  he  jumped  lightly  down 
into  the  circu'~. 

IVnrra  wurra  luiirra  wur-aia-aw-aw  1 1 

In  about  two  minutes 

The  Count  Hogginarmo  was 

GOBBLED    UP 

by_ 

those  lions, 

bones,  boots,  and  all, 

and 

There  was  an 

End  of  him. 


At  this  the  King  said,  "  Serve  him  right,  the  rebellious 
ruffian !  And  now,  as  those  lions  won't  eat  that  young 
woman " 

"  Let  her  off ! — let  her  off !  "  cried  the  crowd. 

"  NO  !  "  roared  the  King.  Let  the  beef-eaters  go  down  and 
chop  her  into  small  pieces.  If  the  lions  defend  her,  let  the 
archers  shoot  them  to  death.  That  hussey  shall  die  in 
tortures  !  " 

"  A-a-ah  ! "  cried  the  crowd.     "  Shame  !  shame  !  " 

"  Who  dares  cry  out  '  Shame  ? '  "  cried  the  furious  poten- 
tate (so  little  can  tyrants  command  their  passions).  "  Fling 
any  scoundrel  who  says  a  word  down  among  the  lions  ! "  I 
warrant  you  there  was  a  dead  silence  then,  which  was  broken 
by  a  "  Pang  arang  pang  pangkarangpang !  "  and  a  Knight  and 
a  Herald  rode  in  at  the  further  end  of  the  circus  ;  the  Knight 
in  full  armor,  with  his  vizor  up,  and  bearing  a  letter  on  the 
point  of  his  lance. 


226  7I^E  ROSE  AND   THE  RING, 

"  Ha  !  "  exclaimed  the  King,  "by  m}^  fay,  'tis  Elephant  and 
Castle,  pursuivant  of  my  brother  of  Paflagonia ;  and  the 
tvuight,  and  my  memory  serves  me,  is  the  gallant  Captain 
Hedzoff !  What  news  from  Paflagonia,  gallant  Hedzoff  ? 
Elephant  and  Castle,  beshrew  me,  thy  trumpeting  must  have 
made  thee  thirsty.     What  will  my  trusty  Herald  like  to  drink  ?" 

"  Bespeaking  first  safe-conduct  from  your  lordship,"  said 
Captain  Hedzoff,  "  before  we  take  a  drink  of  anything,  permit 
us  to  deliver  our  King's  message." 

"  My  lordship,  ha  !  "  said  Crim  Tartary,  frowning  terrific- 
ally. "That  title  soundeth  strange  in  the  anointed  ears  of  a 
crowned  King.  Straightway  speak  out  your  message,  Knight 
and  Herald !  " 

Reining  up  his  charger  in  a  most  elegant  manner  close  un- 
der the  King's  balcony,  Hedzoff  turned  to  the  Herald,  and 
bade  him  begin. 

Elephant  and  Castle,  dropping  his  trumpet  over  his  shoulder, 
took  a  large  sheet  of  paper  out  of  his  hat,  and  began  to  read  : — 

"OYes!  O  Yes  !  O  Yes!  Know  all  men  by  these  pres- 
ents, that  we,  Giglio,  King  of  Paflagonia,  Grand  Duke  of  Cap- 
padocia.  Sovereign  Prince  of  Turkey  and  the  Sausage  Islands, 
having  assumed  our  rightful  throne  and  title,  long  time  falsely 
borne  by  our  usurping  uncle,  styling  himself  King  of  Pafla- 
gonia,—" 

"  Ha  !  "  growled  Padella. 

"  Hereby  summon  the  false  traitor  Padella,  calling  himself 
King  of  Crim  Tartary, — " 

The  King's  curses  were  dreadful.  "Go  on.  Elephant  and 
Castle  !  "  said  the  intrepid  Hedzoff. 

" — To  release  from  cowardly  imprisonment  his  liege  lady 
and  rightful  sovereign,  Rosalba,  Queen  of  Crim  Tartary,  and 
restore  her  to  her  royal  throne  :  in  default  of  which,  I,  Giglio, 
proclaim  the  said  Padella  sneak,  traitor,  humbug,  usurper, 
and  coward.  I  challenge  him  to  meet  me,  with  fists  or  with 
pistols,  with  battle-axe  or  sword,  with  blunderbuss  or  smgle- 
stick,  alone  or  at  the  head  of  his  army,  on  foot,  or  on  horse- 
back ;  and  will  prove  my  words  upon  his  wicked  ugly  body  !  " 

"God  save  the  King  !"  said  Captaai  Hedzoff,  executing  a 
demivolte,  two  semikmes,  and  three  caracols. 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Padelia,  with  the  terrible  calm  of  con- 
centrated fury. 

"  That,  sir.  is  ail  my  royal  master's  message.  Here  is  his 
Majesty's  letter  in  autograph,  and  here  is  his  glove  ;  and  if  any 
gentleman  of  Crim  Tartary  chooses  to  find  fault  with  his  Ma 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING.  227 

jesty's  expressions,  I,  Kustasoff  Hedsoff,  Captain  of  the  Guard, 
am  very  mucli  at  his  service."  And  he  waved  his  lance,  and 
looked  at  the  assembly  all  round. 

"  And  what  says  my  good  brother  of  Paflagonia,  my  dear 
son's  father-in-law,  to  this  rubbish  ?  "  asked  the  King. 

"  The  King's  uncle  hath  been  deprived  of  the  crown  he 
unjustly  wore,"  said  Hedzoil  gravely.  "  He  and  his  ex-Minis- 
ter,  Glumboso,  are  now  in  prison  waiting  the  sentence  of  my 
royal  master.     After  the  battle  of  Bombardaro " 

"  Of  what  ?  "  asked  the  surprised  Padella. 

"  — Of  Bombardaro,  where  my  liege,  his  present  Majesty, 
would  have  performed  prodigies  of  valor,  but  that  the  whole 
of  his  uncle's  army  came  over  to  our  side,  with  the  exception 
of  Prince  Bulbo " 

"  Ah  !  my  boy,  my  boy,  my  Bulbo  was  no  traitor  !  "  cried 
Padella. 

"  Prince  Bulbo,  far  from  coming  over  to  us,  ran  away,  sir  \ 
but  I  caught  him.  The  Prince  is  a  prisoner  in  our  army,  and 
the  most  terrific  tortures  await  him  if  a  hair  of  the  Princess 
Rosalba's  head  is  injured." 

"Do  they?  "  exclaimed  the  furious  Padella,  who  was  now 
perfectly  livid  with  rage.  "  Do  they  indeed  ?  So  much  the 
worse  for  Bulbo.  I've  twenty  sons  as  lovely  each  as  Bulbo. 
Not  one  but  is  as  fit  to  reign  as  Bulbo.  Whip,  whack,  flog, 
starve,  rack,  punish,  torture  Bulbo — break  all  his  bones — roast 
him  or  flay  him  alive — pull  all  his  pretty  teeth  out  one  by  one ! 
But  justly  dear  as  Bulbo  is  to  me, — Joy  of  my  eyes,  fond  treas- 
ure of  my  soul ! — Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  revenge  is  dearer  still.  Ho  ! 
torturers,  rack-men,  executioners — light  up  the  fires  and  make 
the  pincers  hot !  get  lots  of  boiling  lead  !  — Bring  out  Rosalba  1 " 


XVI. 

HOW    HEDZOFF    RODE    BACK   AGAIN   TO    KING  GIGLTO. 

Captain  Hedzoff  rode  away  when  King  Padella  uttered 
this  cruel  command,  having  done  his  duty  in  delivering  the  mes- 
sage with  which  his  royal  master  had  intrusted  him.  Of  course 
he  was  very  sorry  for  Rosalba,  but  what  could  he  do  ? 

So  he  returned  to  King  Giglio's  camp,  and  found  the  young 
monarch  in  a  disturbed  state  of  mind,  smoking  cigars  in  the 


^28  THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 

royal  tent.  His  Majesty's  agitation  was  not  appeased  by  the 
news  that  was  brought  b^  his  ambassador.  "  The  brutal,  ruth- 
less ruffian  royal  wretch  !  "  Giglio  exclaimed.  "  As  England's 
poesy  has  well  remarked,  '  The  man  that  lays  his  hand  upon  a 
woman,  save  in  the  way  of  kindness,  is  a  villain.'  Ha,  Hed- 
zoff  ? " 

"  That  he  is,  your  Majesty,"  said  the  attendant. 

"  And  didst  thou  see  her  flung  into  the  oil  ?  and  didn't  the 
soothing  oil — the  emollient  oil,  refuse  to  boil,  good  Hedzoff— - 
and  to  spoil  the  fairest  lady  ever  eyes  did  look  on  ?  " 

"  'Faith,  good  my  liege,  I  had  no  heart  to  look  and  see  a 
beauteous  lady  boiling  down  ;  I  took  your  royal  message  to 
Padella,  and  bore  his  back  to  you.  I  told  him  you  would  hold 
Prince  Bulbo  answerable.  He  only  said  that  he  had  twenty 
sons  as  good  as  Bulbo,  and  forthwith  he  bade  the  ruthless 
executioners  proceed." 

"  O  cruel  father — O  unhappy  son,"  cried  the  King.  "Go, 
some  of  you,  and  bring  Prince  Bulbo  hither." 

Bulbo  was  brought  in  chains,  looking  very  uncomfortable 
Though  a  prisoner,  he  had  been  tolerably  happy,  perhaps  be- 
cause his  mind  was  at  rest,  and  all  the  fighting  was  over,  and 
he  was  playing  at  marbles  with  his  guards,  when  the  King  sent 
for  him. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  Bulbo,"  said  his  Majest}^,  with  looks  of  in- 
finite compassion,  ''  hast  thou  heard  the  news  ?  "  (for  you  see 
Giglio  wanted  to  break  the  thing  gently  to  the  Prince ).  "  Thy 
brutal  father  has  condemned  Rosalba — p-p-p-ut  her  to  death, 
P-p-p-prince  p]ulbo  !  " 

"  What,  killed  Betsinda  !  Boo-hoo-hoo  !  "  cried  out  Bulbo. 
"  Betsinda  !  pretty  Betsinda  !  dear  Betsinda  !  She  was  the 
dearest  little  girl  in  the  world.  I  love  her  better  twenty  thou- 
sand times  even  than  Angelica."  And  he  went  on  e.-^^pressing 
his  grief  in  so  hearty  and  unaffected  a  manner,  that  the  King 
was  quite  touched  by  it,  and  said,  shaking  Bulbo's  hand,  that 
he  wished  he  had  known  Bulbo  sooner. 

Bulbo,  quite  unconsciously,  and  meaning  for  the  best,  of 
fered  to  come  and  sit  with  his  Majesty,  and  smoke  a  cigar  with 
him,  and  console  him.  The  royal  khuiuess  supplied  Bulbo  with 
a  cigar ;  he  had  not  had  one,  he  said,  since  he  was  taken 
prisoner. 

And  now  think  what  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  the 
most  vicrciftil  of  inonarchs,  when  he  informed  his  prisoner,  that, 
in  consequence  of  King  Padella's  cruel  and  dastardly  behavior 
to  Rosalba,  Prince  Bulbo  must  instantly  be  executed  1     The 


„liiiivii'f„  'I. 


POOR  BULBO  IS  ORDERED  FOR  EXECUTION 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


229 


noble  Giglio  could  not  restrain  his  tears,  nor  could  the  Grena- 
diers, nor  the  officers,  nor  could  Bulbo  himself,  when  the  matter 
was  explained  to  him  ;  and  he  was  brought  to  understand  rhat 
his  Majesty's  promise,  of  course,  was  above evei'y\\\\x\2^,  aad  Bul- 
bo must  submit.  So  poor  Bulbo  was  led  out, — Heclzoff  trying 
to  console  him  by  pointing  out  that  if  he  had  won  the  battle  of 
Bombardaro,  he  might  have  hanged  Prince  Gigiio.  "  Yes  !  But 
that  is  no  comfort  to  me  now  1  "  said  ooor  Bulbo  ;  nor  indeed 
was  it,  poor  fellow. 

He  was  told  the  business  woula  be  done  the  next  morning 
at  eight,  and  was  taken  back  .0  his  dungeon,  where  every  at- 
tention was  paid  to  him.  I'he  jailer's  wife  sent  him  tea,  and 
the  turnkey's  daughter  Degged  him  to  write  his  name  in  her  al- 
bum, where  a  man)  gentlemen  had  wrote  it  on  like  occasions  ! 
"  Bother  you^"  aibum !  "  says  Bulbo.  The  Undertai<er  came 
and  measured  him  for  the  handsomest  coffin  which  money  could 
buy:  p\en  this  didn't  console  Bulbo.  The  Cook  brought  him 
dishes  which  he  once  used  to  like  ;  buthe  wouldn't  touch  them  : 
he  sat  down  and  began  writing  an  adieu  to  Angelica,  as  the 
clock  kept  always  ticking  and  the  hands  drawing  nearer  to 
next  morning.  The  Barber  came  in  at  night,  and  offered  to 
shave  him  for  next  day.  Prince  Bulbo  kicked  him  away,  and 
went  on  writing  a  few  words  to  Princess  Angelica,  as  the  clock 
kept  always  ticking  and  the  hands  hopping  nearer  and  nearer 
to  next  morning.  He  got  up  on  the  top  of  a  hat-box,  on  the 
top  of  a  chair,  on  the  top  of  his  bed,  on  the  top  of  his  table, 
and  looked  out  to  see  whether  he  might  escape  as  the  clock 
kept  always  ticking  and  the  hands  drawing  nearer,  and  nearer, 
and  nearer. 

But  looking  out  of  the  window  was  one  thing,  and  jumping 
another:  and  the  town  clock  struck  seven.  So  he  got  into  bed 
for  a  little  sleep,  but  the  jailer  came  and  woke  him,  and  said, 
"Git  up,  your  Royal  Ighness,  if  you  please,  it's  ten  mimites  to 
eighth 

So  poor  Bulbo  got  up  :  he  had  gone  to  bed  in  his  clothes 
(the  lazy  boy),  and  he  shook  himself,  and  said  he  didn't  mind 
about  dressing,  or  having  any  breakfast,  thank  you  ;  and  he 
saw  the  soldiers  who  had  come  for  him,  "  Lead  on  !  "  he  said  ; 
and  they  led  the  way,  deeply  affected  ;  and  they  came  into  the 
courtyard,  and  out  into  the  square,  and  there  was  King  Giglio 
come  to  take  leave  of  him,  and  his  Majesty  most  kindly  shook 
hands  with  him,  and  the  gloomy  procession  marched  on  : — when 
hark! 

"  Haw — wurraw — wurraw — aworr  1 " 


83° 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


A  roar  of  wild  beasts  was  heard.  And  who  shohid  come 
riding  into  the  town,  frightening  away  the  boys,  and  even  tlie 
beadle  and  policeman,  but  Rosalba  ! 

The  fact  is,  that  when  Captain  Hedzoff  entered  into  the 
court  of  Snapdragon  Castle,  and  was  discoursing  with  King 
Padella,  the  Lions  made  a  dash  at  the  open  gate,  gobbled  up 
the  six  beef-eaters  in  a  jiffy,  and  away  they  went  with  Rosalba 
on  the  back  of  one  of  them,  and  they  carried  her,  turn  and  turn 
about,  till  they  came  to  the  city  where  Prince  Giglio's  army 
was  encamped. 

When  the  King  heard  of  the  Queen's  arrival,  you  may 
think  how  he  rushed  out  of  his  breakfast-room  to  hand  her 
Majesty  off  her  Lion  !  The  Lions  were  grown  as  fat  as  pigs 
now,  having  had  Hogginarmo  and  all  those  beef-eaters,  and 
were  so  tame,  anybody  might  pat  them. 

While  Giglio  knelt  (most  gracefully)  and  helped  the  Prin- 
cess, Bulbo,  for  his  part,  rushed  up  and  kissed  the  Lion.  He 
flung  his  arms  round  the  forest  monarch  ;  he  hugged  him,  and 
laughed  and  cried  for  joy.  "  Oh,  you  darling  old  beast — oh  ! 
how  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  and  the  dear,  dear  Bets — that  is, 
Rosalba." 

'  What,  is  it  you,  poor  Bulbo  ?  "  said  the  Queen.  "  Oh,  how 
glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  "  And  she  gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss. 
King  Giglio  slapped  him  most  kindly  on  the  back,  and  said, 
'*  Bulbo  my  boy,  I  am  delighted,  for  your  sake,  that  her  Majesty 
has  arrived." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Bulbo  ;  "  and  you  knoio  zv/iy.'^  Captain 
Hedzoff  here  came  up.  "  Sire,  it  is  half-past  eight :  shall 
we  proceed  with  the  execution  ?  " 

"  Execution  ?  "  what  for  >  "  asked  Bulbo. 

"  An  officer  only  knows  his  orders,"  replied  Captain  Hedz- 
off, showing  his  warrant  :  on  which  his  Majesty  King  Giglio 
smilingly  said  Prince  Bulbo  was  reprieved  this  time,  and  most 
graciously  invited  him  to  breakfast. 


XVIL 

HOW    A    TREMENDOUS    BATTLE    TOOK    PLACE,  AND    WHO    WON    IT, 

As  soon  as  King  Padella  heard — what  we  know  already — ■ 
that  his  victim,  the  lovelv  Rosalba,  had  escaped  him,  his 
Majesty's   fury   knew    no   bounds,    and  he  pitched  the   Lord 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING.  23I 

Chancellor,  Lord  Chamberlain,  and  every  officer  of  the  Crown 
whom  he  could  set  eyes  on,  into  the  cauldron  of  boiling  oil  pre- 
pared for  the  Princess.  Then  he  ordered  out  his  whole  army, 
horse,  foot,  and  artillery  ;  and  set  forth  at  the  head  of  an  in- 
numerable host,  and  I  should  think  twenty  thousand  drummers, 
trumpeters,  and  fifers. 

King  Giglio's  advanced  guard,  you  may  be  sure,  kept  that 
monarch  acquainted  with  the  enemy's  dealings,  and  he  was  in 
nowise  disconcerted.  He  was  much  too  polite  to  alarm  the 
Princess,  his  lovely  guest,  with  any  unnecessary  rumors  of 
battles  impending ;  on  the  contrary,  he  did  everything  to  amuse 
and  divert  her;  gave  her  a  most  elegant  breakfast,  dinner, 
lunch,  and  got  up  a  ball  for  her  that  evening,  when  he  danced 
with  her  every  single  dance. 

Poor  Bulbo  was  taken  into  favor  again,  and  allowed  to  go 
quite  free  now.  He  had  new  clothes  given  him,  was  called 
"  My  good  cousin  "  by  his  Majesty,  and  was  treated  with  the 
greatest  distinction  by  everybody.  But  it  was  easy  to  see  he 
was  very  melancholy.  The  fact  is,  the  sight  of  Betsinda,  who 
looked  perfectly  lovely  in  an  elegant  new  dress,  set  poor  Bulbo 
frantic  in  love  with  her  again.  And  he  never  thought  about 
Angelica,  now  Princess  Bulbo,  whom  he  had  left  at  home,  and 
who,  as  we  know,  did  not  care  much  about  him. 

The  king,  dancing  the  twenty-fifth  polka  with  Rosalba,  re- 
marked with  wonder  the  ring  she  wore ;  and  then  Rosalba  told 
him  how  she  had  got  it  from  Gruffanuff,  who  no  doubt  had 
picked  it  up  when  Angelica  flung  it  away. 

"  Yes,"  says  the  Fairy  Blackstick — who  had  come  to  see  the 
young  people,  and  who  had  very  likely  certain  plans  regarding 
them — "  that  ring  I  gave  the  Queen,  Giglio's  mother,  who  was 
not,  saving  your  presence,  a  very  wise  woman  :  it  is  enchanted, 
and  whoever  wears  it  looks  beautiful  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 
I  made  poor  Prince  Bulbo,  when  he  was  christened,  the  present 
of  a  rose  which  made  him  look  handsome  while  he  had  it ;  but 
he  gave  it  to  Angelica,  who  instantly  looked  beautiful  again, 
whilst  Bulbo  relapsed  into  his  natural  plainness." 

"  Rosalba  needs  no  ring,  I  am  sure,"  says  Giglio,  with  a 
low  bow.  "  She  is  beautiful  enough,  in  my  eyes,  without  any 
enchanted  aid." 

"Oh,  sir!"  said  Rosalba. 

"  Take  off  the  ring  and  try,"  said  the  King,  and  resolutely 
drew  the  ring  off  her  finger.  In  his  eyes  she  looked  just  as  hand- 
some as  before  ! 

The  King  was  thinking  of  throwing  the  ring  away,  as  it  was 

S 


232 


THE  ROSE  AXD  THE  RING. 


SO  dangerous  and  made  all  the  people  so  mad  about  Rosalba  ; 
but  being  a  prince  of  great  humor,  and  good-humor  too,  he  cast 
eyes  upon  a  poor  youth  who  happened  to  be  looking  ou  very 
disconsolately,  and  said — 

"  Bulbo  my  poor  lad  !  come  and  try  on  this  ring.  The 
Princess  Rosalba  makes  it  a  present  to  you."  The  magic 
properties  of  this  ring  were  uncommonly  strong,  for  no  sooner 
had  Bulbo  put  it  on,  but  lo  and  behold,  he  appeared  a  person 
able,  agreeable  young  prince  enough — with  a  fine  complexion, 
fair  hair,  rather  stout,  and  with  bandy  legs  ;  but  these  were 
encased  in  such  a  beautiful  pair  of  yellow  morocco  boots  that 
nobody  remarked  them.  And  Bulbo's  spirits  rose  up  almost 
hnmediately  after  he  had  looked  in  the  glass,  and  he  talked  to 
their  Majesties  in  the  most  lively,  agreeable  manner,  and  danced 
opposite  the  Queen  with  one  of  the  prettiest  Maids  of  Honor, 
and  after  looking  at  her  Majesty,  could  not  help  saying,  "  How 
very  odd  :  she  is  very  pretty,  but  not  so  extraordinarily  hand- 
some."    "  Oh,  no,  by  no  means !  "  says  the  Maid  of  Honor. 

"  But  what  care  I,  dear  sir,"  says  the  Queen,  who  overheard 
them,  "  \i  you  think  I  am  good-looking  enough  ?  " 

His  Majesty's  glance  in  reply  to  this  affectionate  speech 
was  such  that  no  painter  could  draw  it.  And  the  Fairy  Black- 
stick  said,  "  Bless  you,  my  darling  children  !  Now  you  are 
united  and  happy  ;  and  now  you  see  what  I  said  from  the  first, 
that  a  little  misfortune  has  done  you  both  good.  You.  Giglio, 
had  you  been  bred  in  prosperity,  would  scarcely  have  learned 
to  read  or  write — you  would  have  been  idle  and  extravagant, 
and  could  not  have  been  a  good  king  as  you  now  will  be.  You, 
Rosalba,  would  have  been  so  flattered,  that  your  little  head 
might  have  been  turned  like  Angelica's,  who  thought  herself 
too  good  for  Giglio." 

"  As  if  anybody  could  be  good  enough  for  ///w,"  cried 
Rosalba. 

"  Oh,  you,  you  darling  !  "  says  Giglio.  And  so  she  was  ; 
and  he  was  just  holding  out  his  arms  in  order  to  give  her  a  hug 
before  the  whole  company,  when  a  messenger  came  rushing  in 
and  said,   "  My  Lord,  the  enemy  !  " 

"  To  arms  !  "  cries  Giglio. 

"■  Oh,  mercy  !  "  says  Rosalba,  and  fainted  of  course.  He 
snatched  one  kiss  from  her  lips,  and  rushed  forth  to  the  field 
of  battle  ! 

The  Fairy  had  provided  King  Giglio  with  a  suit  of  armor 
which  was  not   only  embroidered    all    over   with  jewels,  and 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


233 


blinding  to  your  eyes  to  look  at,  but  was  water-proof,  gun- 
proof,  and  sword-proof :  so  that,  in  the  midst  of  the  very  hot- 
test battles,  his  Majesty  rode  about  as  calmly  as  if  he  had  been 
a  British  Grenadier  at  Alma.  Were  I  engaged  in  lighting  for 
my  country,  /should  like  such  a  suit  of  armor  as  Prince  Giglio 
wore  ;  but,  you  know,  he  was  a  prince  of  a  fairy  tale,  and  they 
always  have  these  wonderful  things. 

Besides  the  fairy  armor,  the  Prince  had  a  fairy  horse, 
which  would  gallop  at  any  pace  you  please  ;  and  a  fairy  sword, 
which  would  lengthen,  and  run  through  a  whole  regiment  of 
enemies  at  once.  With  such  a  weapon  at  command,  I  wonder, 
for  my  part,  he  thought  of  ordering  his  army  out;  but  forth 
they  all  came,  in  magnificent  new  uniforms  :  Hedzoff  and  the 
Prince's  two  college  friends  each  commanding  a  division,  and 
his  Majesty  prancing  in  person  at  the  head  of  them  all. 

Ah  !  if  I  had  the  pen  of  a  Sir  Archibald  Alison,  my  dear 
friends,  would  I  not  now  entertain  you  with  the  account  of  a 
most  tremendous  shindy  ?  Should  not  fine  blows  be  struck  ? 
dreadful  wounds  be  delivered  .''  arrows  darken  the  air?  cannon- 
balls  crash  through  the  battalions  ?  cavalry  charge  infantry  ? 
infantry  pitch  into  cavalry  ?  bugles  blow  ;  drums  beat ;  horses 
neigh  ;  fifes  sing ;  soldiers  roar,  swear,  hurray  ;  officers  shout 
out,  "  Forward,  my  men  !  "  "  This  way,  lads  !  "  "  Give  it  'em, 
boys  !  "  "  Fight  for  King  Giglio  and  the  cause  of  right  !  " 
"  King  Padella  forever  ! "  Would  I  not  describe  all  this,  I 
say,  and  in  the  very  finest  language  too?  But  this  humble  pen 
does  not  possess  the  skill  necessary  for  the  description  of  com- 
bats. In  a  word,  the  overthrow  of  King  Padella's  army  was 
so  complete,  that  if  they  had  been  Russians  you  could  not 
have  wished  them  to  be  more  utterly  smashed  and  confounded. 

As  for  that  usurping  monarch,  having  performed  acts  of 
valor  much  more  considerable  than  could  be  expected  of  a 
royal  ruffian  and  usurper,  who  had  such  a  bad  cause,  and  who 
was  so  cruel  to  women, — as  for  King  Padella,  I  say,  when  his 
army  ran  away  the  King  ran  away  too,  kicking  his  first  General, 
Prince  Punchikoff,  from  his  saddle,  and  galloping  away  on  the 
Prince's  horse,  having,  indeed,  had  twenty-five  or  twenty-six  of 
his  own  shot  under  him.  Hedzoff  coming  up,  and  finding 
Punchikoff  down,  as  you  may  imagine,  very  speedily  disposed 
of  him.  Meanwhile  King  Padella  was  scampering  off  as  hard 
as  his  horse  could  lay  legs  to  ground.  Fast  as  he  scampered,  I 
promise  you  somebody  else  galloped  faster  ;  and  that  individual, 
as  no  doubt  you  are  aware,  was  the  royal  Giglio,  who  kept 
bawling  out,  "  Stay,  traitor  !     Turn,  miscreant,  and  defend  thy- 


'34 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  RING. 


self  !  Stand,  tyrant,  coward,  ruffian,  royal  wretch,  till  I  cut  thy 
ugly  head  from  thy  usurping  shoulders  !  "  And,  with  his  fairy 
sword,  which  elongated  itself  at  will,  his  Majesty  kept  poking 
and  prodding  Padella  in  the  back,  until  that  wicked  monarch 
roared  with  anguish. 

When  he  was  fairly  brought  to  bay,  Padella  turned  and 
dealt  Prince  Giglio  a  prodigious  crack  over  the  sconce  with 
his  battle-axe,  a  most  enormous  weapon,  which  had  cut  down 
I  don't  know  how  many  regiments  in  the  course  of  the  after- 
noon. But  law  bless  you  !  though  the  blow  fell  right  down 
on  his  Majesty's  helmet,  it  made  no  more  impression  than 
if  Padella  had  struck  him  with  a  pat  of  butter  :  his  battle- 
axe  crumbled  up  in  Padella's  hand,  and  the  royal  Giglio 
laughed  for  very  scorn  at  the  impotent  efforts  of  that  atrocious 
usurper. 

At  the  ill  success  of  his  blow  the  Grim  Tartar  monarch  was 
justly  irritated.  "If,"  says  he  to  Giglio,  "you  ride  a  fairy 
horse,  and  wear  fairy  armor,  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  my  hit- 
ting you  ?  I  may  as  well  give  myself  up  a  prisoner  at  once. 
Vour  Majesty  won't,  I  suppose,  be  so  mean  as  to  strike  a  poor 
fellow  who  can't  strike  again.'!  " 

The  justice  of  Padella's  remark  struck  the  magnanimous 
Giglio.     "Do  vou  yield  yourself  a  prisoner,  Padella?"  says  he. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  says  Padella. 

"  Do  you  acknowledge  Rosalba  as  your  rightful  Queen,  and 
give  up  the  crown  and  all  your  treasures  to  your  rightful  mis- 
tress t " 

"  If  I  must  I  must,"  says  Padella,  who  was  naturally  very 
sulky. 

By  this  time  King  Giglio's  aides-de-camp  had  come  up, 
whom  his  Majesty  ordered  to  bind  the  prisoner.  And  they 
tied  his  hands  behind  him,  and  bound  his  legs  tight  under  his 
horse,  having  set  him  with  his  face  to  the  tail  ;  and  in  this 
fashion  he  was  led  back  to  King  Giglio's  quarters,  and  thrust 
into  the  very  dungeon  where  young  Bulbo  had  been  confined. 

Padella  (who  was  a  very  different  person,  in  the  depth  of 
his  distress,  to  Padella  the  proud  wearer  of  the  Crim  Tartar 
crown,)  now  most  affectionately  and  earnestly  asked  to  see  his 
son — his  dear  eldest  boy — his  darling  Bulbo;  and  that  good- 
natured  young  man  never  once  reproached  his  haughty  parent 
for  his  unkind  conduct  the  day  before,  when  he  would  have  left 
Bulbo  to  be  shot  without  any  pity,  but  came  to  see  his  father, 
and  spoke  to  him  through  the  grating  of  the  door,  beyond 
which  he  was  not  allowed  to  go ;  and  brought  him  some  sand- 


fXlmMm 


,p^^ ' 


THE  ROSE  AXD   THE  RING. 


235 


wiches  from  the  grand  supper  which  his  Majesty  was  giving 
above  stairs,  in  honor  of  the  briUiant  victory  whicli  had  just 
been  achieved. 

"  I  cannot  stay  with  you  long,  sir,"  says  Bulbo,  who  was  in 
his  best  ball-dress,  as  he  handed  in  his  father  the  prog.  "  I 
am  engaged  to  dance  the  next  quadrille  with  her  Majesty 
Queen  Rosalba_.  and  I  hear  the  fiddles  playing  at  this  very 
moment." 

So  Bulbo  went  back  to  the  ball-room,  and  the  wretched 
Padella  ate  his  solitary  supper  in  silence  and  tears. 

All  was  now  joy  in  King  Giglio's  circle  Dancing,  feasting, 
fun,  illuminations,  and  jollifications  of  all  sorts  ensued.  The 
people  through  whose  villages  they  passed  were  ordered  to 
illuminate  their  cottages  at  night,  and  scatter  flowers  on  the 
roads  during  the  day.  They  were  requested — and  I  promise 
you  they  did  not  like  to  refuse — to  serve  the  troops  liberally 
with  eatables  and  wine  ;  besides,  the  army  was  enriched  by  the 
immense  quantity  of  plunder  which  was  found  in  King  Padella's 
camp,  and  taken  from  his  soldiers ;  who  (after  they  had  given 
up  ever}'thing)  were  allowed  to  fraternize  with  the  conquerors  ; 
and  the  united  forces  marched  back  by  easy  stages  towards 
King  Giglio's  capital,  his  royal  banner  and  that  of  Queen 
Rosalba  being  carried  in  front  of  the  troops.  Hedzoff  was 
made  a  Duke  and  a  Field  Marshal.  Smith  and  Jones  were 
promoted  to  be  Earls  ;  the  Criir.  1  artar  Order  of  the  Pumpkin 
and  the  Paflagonian  decoration  of  the  Cucumber  were  freely 
distributed  b^  their  Majesties  to  the  army.  Queen  Rosalba 
wore  the  Paflagonian  Ribbon  of  the  Cucumber  across  her 
riamg  habit,  whilst  King  Giglio  never  appeared  without  the 
grand  Cordon  of  the  Pumpkin.  How  the  people  cheered  them 
as  they  rode  along  side  by  side  !  They  were  pronounced  to  be 
the  handsomest  couple  ever  seen  :  that  was  a  matter  of  course  ; 
but  they  really  7vere  very  handsome,  and,  had  they  been  other- 
wise, would  have  looked  so,  they  were  so  happy  !  Their  Maj- 
esties were  never  separated  during  tlie  whole  day,  but  break- 
fasted, dined,  and  supped  together  always,  and  rode  side  by 
side,  interchanging  elegant  compliments,  and  indulging  in  the 
most  delightful  conversation.  At  night,  her  ^Majesty's  ladies 
of  honor  (who  had  all  rallied  round  her  the  day  after  King 
Padella's  defeat)  came  and  conducted  her  to  the  apartments 
prepared  for  her;  whilst  King  Giglio,  surrounded  by  his  gentle- 
men, withdrew  to  his  own  Royal  quarters.  It  was  agreed  they 
should  be  married  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  capital,  and 


236  THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 

orders  were  despatched  to  the  Archbishop  of  Blombodinga,  to 
hold  himself  in  readiness  to  perform  the  interesting  ceremony. 
Duke  Hedzoff  carried  the  message,  and  gave  instructions  to 
have  the  Royal  Castle  splendidly  refurnished  and  painted 
afresh.  The  Duke  seized  Glumboso,  the  ex-Prime  Minister, 
and  made  him  refund  that  considerable  sum  of  money  which  the 
old  scoundrel  had  secreted  out  of  the  late  King's  treasure.  He 
also  clapped  Valoroso  into  prison  (who,  by  the  way,  had  been 
dethroned  for  some  considerable  period  past),  and  when  the  ex- 
monarch  weakly  remonstrated,  Hedzoff  said,  "A  soldier.  Sir, 
knows  but  his  duty  ;  my  orders  are  to  lock  you  up  along  with 
the  ex-King  Padella,  whom  I  have  brought  hither  a  prisoner 
under  guard."  So  these  two  ex-Royal  personages  were  sent  for 
a  year  to  the  House  of  Correction,  and  thereafter  were  obliged 
to  become  monks  of  the  severest  order  of  Flagellants — in  which 
state,  by  fasting,  by  vigils,  by  flogging  (which  they  administered 
to  one  another,  humbly  but  resolutely),  no  doubt  they  exhibited 
a  repentance  for  their  past  misdeeds,  usurpations,  and  private 
and  public  crimes. 

As  for  Glumboso,  that  rogue  was  sent  to  the  galleys.  2nd 
never  had  an  opportunity  to  steal  any  more. 


xvni. 

HOW   THEY   ALL   JOURNEYED    BACK.   TO    THE    CAPITAL. 

The  Fairy  Blackstick,  by  whose  means  this  young  King  and 
Queen  had  certainly  won  their  respective  crowns  back,  would 
come  not  unfrequently  to  pay  them  a  little  visit — as  they  w»re 
riding  in  their  iriumphal  progress  towards  Giglio's  capital — ' 
change  her  wand  into  a  pony,  and  travel  by  their  Majesties' 
side,  giving  them  the  very  best  advice.  I  am  not  sure  that 
King  Giglio  did  not  think  the  Fairy  and  her  ad\ice  rather  a 
bore,  fancying  that  it  was  his  own  valor  and  merits  which  had 
put  him  on  his  throne,  and  conquered  Padella  :  and,  in  fine,  I 
fear  he  rather  gave  himself  airs  towards  his  best  friend  and 
patroness.  She  exhorted  him  to  deal  justly  by  his  subjects,  to 
draw  mildly  on  the  taxes,  never  to  break  his  promise  when  he 
had  once  given  it — and  in  all  respects  to  be  a  good  King. 

"  A   good    King,  my   dear   Fairy  !  "  cries    Rosalba.     "  Of 
course  he  will.     Break  his  promise  I  can  you  fancy  my  Giglio 


THE  ROSE  AXD  THE  RING. 


237 


would  ever  do  anything  so  improper,  so  unlike  him  ?  No ! 
never !  "  And  she  looked  fondly  towards  Giglio,  whom  she 
thought  a  pattern  of  perfection. 

"Why  is  Fairy  Blackstick  always  advising  me,  and  telling 
me  how  to  manage  my  government,  and  warning  me  to  keep  my 
word  ?  Does  she  suppose  that  I  am  not  a  man  of  sense,  and  a 
man  of  honor  ?  "  asks  Giglio,  testily.  "  Methinks  she  rather 
presumes  upon  her  position." 

"  Hush  !  dear  Giglio,"  says  Rosalba.  "  You  know  Black- 
stick  has  been  very  kind  to  us,  and  we  must  not  offend  her." 
But  the  Fairy  was  not  listening  to  Giglio's  testy  observations  : 
she  had  fallen  back,  and  was  trotting  on  her  pony  now,  by 
Master  Bulbo's  side — who  rode  a  donkey,  and  made  himself 
generally  beloved  in  the  army  by  his  cheerfulness,  kindness,  and 
good-humor  to  everybody.  He  was  eager  to  see  his  darling 
Angelica.  He  thought  there  never  was  such  a  charming  being. 
Blackstick  did  not  tell  him  it  was  the  possession  of  the  magic 
rose  that  made  Angelica  so  lo\ely  in  his  eyes.  She  broughi 
him  the  very  best  accounts  of  his  little  wife,  whose  misfortunes 
and  humiliations  had  indeed  very  greatly  improved  her ;  and 
you  see,  she  could  whisk  off  on  her  wand  a  hundred  miles  in  a 
minute,  and  be  back  in  no  time,  and  so  carry  polite  messages 
from  Bulbo  to  Angelica,  and  from  Angelica  to  Bulbo,  and  com- 
fort that  young  man  upon  his  journey. 

When  the  Royal  party  arrived  at  the  last  stage  before  you 
reach  Blombodinga,  who  should  be  in  waiting,  in  her  carriage 
there,  with  her  lady  of  honor  by  her  side,  but  the  Princess  An- 
gelica ?  She  rushed  into  her  husband's  arms,  scarcely  stopping 
to  make  a  passing  curtsey  to  the  King  and  Queen.  She  had  no 
eyes  but  for  Bulbo,  who  appeared  perfectly  lovely  to  her  on  ac- 
count of  the  fairy  ring  which  he  wore  ;  whilst  she  herself,  wear- 
ing the  magic  rose  in  her  bonnet,  seemed  entirely  beautiful  to 
the  enraptured  Bulbo. 

A  splendid  luncheon  was  served  to  the  Royal  party,  of  which 
the  Archbishop,  the  Chancellor,  the  Duke  Hedzoff,  Countess 
Gruffanuff,  and  all  our  friends  partook — the  Fairy  Blackstick 
being  seated  on  the  left  of  King  Giglio,  with  Bulbo  and  An- 
gelica beside.  You  could  hear  the  joy-bells  ringing  in  the 
capital,  and  the  guns  which  the  citizens  were  firing  off  in  honor 
of  their  Majesties. 

"  What  can  have  induced  that  hideous  old  Gruffanuff'  to 
dress  herself  up  in  such  an  absurd  way  ?  Did  you  ask  her  to 
be  your  bridesmaid,  my  dear  ?  "  says  Giglio  to  Rosalba 
"  What  a  figure  of  fun  Gruffy  is  !  " 

IS* 


238  THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 

Gruffy  was  seated  opposite  their  Majesties,  between  the 
Archbishop  and  the  Lord  Chancellor,  and  a  figure  of  fun  she 
certainly  was,  for  she  was  dressed  in  a  low  white  silk  dress, 
with  lace  over,  a  wreath  of  white  roses  on  her  wig,  a  splendid 
lace  veil,  and  her  yellow  old  neck  was  covered  with  diamonds. 
She  ogled  the  King  in  such  a  manner,  that  his  Majesty  burst 
out  laughing. 

"  Eleven  o'clock  !  "  cries  Giglio,  as  the  great  Cathedral  bell 
of  Blombodinga  tolled  that  hour.  "  Gentlemen  and  ladies,  we 
must  be  starting.  Archbishop,  you  must  be  at  church  I  think 
before  twelve  ?  " 

"  We  must  be  at  church  before  twelve,"  sighs  out  Gruff- 
anuff  in  a  languishing  voice,  hiding  her  old  face  behind  her 
fan. 

"  And  then  I  shall  be  the  happiest  man  in  my  dominions," 
cries  Giglio,  with  an  elegant  bow  to  the  blushing  Rosalba. 

"Oh,  my  Giglio  !  Oh,  my  dear  Majesty  !  "  exclaims  Gruff- 
anuff ;  "  and  can  it  be  that  this  happy  moment  at  length  has 
arrived " 

"Of  course  it  has  arrived,"  says  the  King. 

"  — And  that  I  am  about  to  become  the  enraptured  bride  of 
my  adored  Giglio  !  "  continues  Gruft'anuff.  "  Lend  me  a 
smelling-bottle,  somebody.     I  certainly  shall  faint  with  joy." 

"  YoH  my  bride  ?  "  roars  out  Giglio. 

"  You  marry  my  Prince  ?  "  cries  poor  little  Rosalba. 

"  Pooh  !  Nonsense  !  The  woman's  mad  !  "  exclaims  the 
King.  And  all  the  courtiers  exhibited  by  their  countenances 
and  expressions,  marks  of  surprise  or  ridicule,  or  incredulity  or 
wonder. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  who  else  is  going  to  be  married,  if 
I  am  not  ?"  shrieks  out  Gruffanuff.  "I  should  like  to  know  if 
King  Giglio  is  a  gentleman,  and  if  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
justice  in  Paflagonia  ?  Lord  Chancellor  !  my  Lord  Archbishop  I 
will  your  lordships  sit  by  and  see  a  poor  fond,  confiding,  tender 
creature  put  upon  ?  Has  not  Prince  Giglio  promised  to  marry 
his  Barbara?  Ls  not  this  Giglio's  signature?  Does  not  this 
paper  declare  that  he  is  mine,  and  only  mine  ?  "  And  she  handed 
to  his  Grace  the  Archbishop  the  document  which  the  Prince 
signed  that  evening  when  she  wore  the  magic  ring,  and  Giglio 
drank  so  much  champagne.  And  the  old  Archbishop,  taking 
out  his  eye-glasses,  read — "This  is  to  give  notice  that  I,  Giglio, 
only  son  of  Savio,  King  of  Paflagonia,  liereby  promise  to  marry 
the  charming  Barbara  Griselda  Countess  Gruffanuff,  and  widow 
of  the  late  Jenkins  Gruffanuff,  Esq." 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


239 


"  H'm,"  says  the  Archbishop,  "  the  document  is  certainly  a 
—a  document." 

"  Phoo  !  "  says  the  Lord  Chancellor  :  "  the  signature  is  not 
in  his  Majesty's  handwriting."  Indeed,  since  his  studies 
at  Bosforo,  Giglio  had  made  an  immense  improvement  in  calig^ 
raphy. 

"  Is  it  your  handwriting,  Giglio  ?  "  cries  the  Fairy  Blackstick, 
with  an  av/ful  severity  of  countenance. 

"Y — y — y — es,"  poor  Giglio  gasps  out.  "I  had  quite  for- 
gotten the  confounded  paper  :  she  can't  mean  to  hold  me  by  it. 
You  old  wretch,  what  will  you  take  to  let  me  off  ?  Help  the 
Queen,  some  one — her  Majesty  has  fainted." 

"  Chop  her  head  off  !  "        ]  e.xclaim  the  impetuous  Hedzoff, 

*'  Smother  the  old  witch !  "  \     the    ardent  Smith,    and    the 

"  Pitch  her  into  the  river !  "  J      faithful  Jones. 

But  Gruffanuff  flung  her  arms  round  the  Archbishop's  neck 
and  bellowed  out,  "  Justice,  justice,  my  Lord  Chancellor  !  "  so 
loudly,  that  her  piercing  shrieks  caused  everybody  to  pause. 
As  for  Rosalba,  she  was  borne  away  lifeless  by  her  ladies  ;  and 
you  may  imagine  the  look  of  agony  which  Giglio  cast  towards 
that  lovely  being,  as  his  hope,  his  joy,  his  darling,  his  all  in 
all,  was  thus  removed,  and  in  her  place  the  horrid  old  Gruff- 
anuff rushed  up  to  his  side,  and  once  more  shrieked  out,  "  Jus- 
tice, justice  !  " 

"  Won't  you  take  that  sum  of  money  which  Glumboso  hid  ?  " 
says  Giglio  :  '■  two  hundred  and  eighteen  thousand  millions,  or 
thereabouts.     It's  a  handsome  sum."' 

"  I  will  have  that  and  you  too  !  "  says  Gruffanuff. 

"  Let  us  throw  the  crown  jewels  into  the  bargain,"  gasps 
out  Giglio. 

"  I  will  wear  them  by  my  Giglio's  side  !  "  says  Gruft'anuff. 

"  Will  half,  three-quarters,  live-sixths,  nineteen-twentieths, 
of  my  kingdom  do.  Countess  .''  "  asks  the  trembling  monarch. 

"  What  were  all  Europe  to  me  without  you,  my  Giglio  ? ' 
cries  Gruff,  kissing  his  hand. 

"  I  won't,  I  can't,  I  sha'n't, — I'll  resign  the  crown  first," 
shouts  Giglio,  tearing  away  his  hand  ;  but  Gruff  clung  to  it. 

"  I  have  a  competency,  my  love,"  she  says,  "  and  with  thee 
and  a  cottage  thy  Barbara  will  be  happy." 

Giglio  was  half  mad  with  rage  by  this  time.  '"'  I  will  not 
marry  her,"  says  he.  "  Oh,  Fairy,  Fairy,  give  me  counsel  !  " 
And  as  he  spoke,  he  looked  wildly  round  at  the  severe  face  of 
the  Fairy  Blackstick. 

"  'Why  is  Fairy  Blackstick  always  advising  me,  and  warning 


240 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


me  to  keep  my  word  ?  Does  she  suppose  that  I  am  not  a 
man  of  honor?'"  said  the  Fairy,  quoting  Giglio's  own 
hauglity  words.  He  quailed  under  the  brightness  of  her  eyes  \ 
he  felt  that  there  was  no  escape  for  him  from  that  awful  In- 
quisition. 

"  Well,  Archbishop,"  said  he,  in  a  dreadful  voice  that  made 
his  Grace  start,  "  since  this  Fairy  has  led  me  to  the  height  of 
happiness  but  to  dash  me  down  into  the  depths  of  despair, 
since  I  am  to  lose  Rosalba,  let  me  at  least  keep  my  honor.  Get 
up.  Countess,  and  let  us  be  married  ;  I  can  keep  my  word,  but 
I  can  die  afterwards." 

"O  dear  Giglio,"  cries  Gruffanuff,  skipping  up,  "I  knew,  I 
knew  I  could  trust  thee — I  knew  that  my  Prince  was  the  sou', 
of  honor.  Jump  into  your  carriages,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and 
let  us  go  to  church  at  once  ;  and  as  for  dying,  dear  Giglio,  no, 
no :  thou  wilt  forget  that  insignificant  little  chambermaid  of  a 
queen — thou  wilt  live  to  be  consoled  by  thy  Barbara  !  She 
wishes  to  be  a  Queen,  and  not  a  Queen  Dowager,  my  gracious 
lord  !  "  And  hanging  upon  poor  Giglio's  arm,  and  leering  and 
grinning  in  his  face  in  the  most  disgusting  manner,  this  old 
wretch  tripped  off  in  her  white  satin  shoes,  and  jumped  into  the 
very  carriage  which  had  been  got  ready  to  convey  Giglio  and 
Rosalba  to  church.  The  cannons  roared  again,  the  bebs  pealed 
triple-bobmajors,  the  people  came  out  flinging  flowers  upon  the 
path  of  the  royal  bride  and  bridegroom,  and  Gruff  looked  out 
of  the  gilt  coach  window  and  bowed  and  grinned  to  them. 
Phoo  !  the  horrid  old  wretch  ! 


XIX. 

AND    NOW   WE   COME   TO   THE   LAST   SCENE    IN   THE   PANTOMIME. 

The  many  ups  and  downs  of  her  life  had  given  the  Princess 
Rosalba  prodigious  strength  of  mind,  and  that  highly  principled 
young  woman  presently  recovered  from  her  fainting-fit,  out  of 
which  Fairy  Blackstick,  by  a  precious  essence  which  the  Fairy 
always  carried  in  her  pocket,  awakened  her.  Instead  of  tear- 
ing her  hair,  crying,  and  bemoaning  herself,  and  fainting  again, 
as  many  young  women  would  have  done,  Rosalba  remembered 
that  she  owed  an  example  of  firmness  to  her  subjects  ;  and 
though  she  loved  Giglio  more  than  her  life,  was  determined,  aa 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


241 


she  told  the  Fairy,  not  to  interfere  between  him  and  justice,  ol 
to  cause  liim  to  break  his  royal  word. 

"  I  cannot  marry  him,  but  I  shall  love  him  always,"  says 
she  to  Blackstick  ;  "  I  will  go  and  be  present  at  his  marriage 
with  the  Countess,  and  sign  the  book,  and  wish  them  happy 
with  all  my  heart.  I  will  see,  when  I  get  home,  whether  I 
cannot  make  the  new  Queen  some  handsome  presents.  The 
Crim  Tartary  crown  diamonds  are  uncommonly  fine,  and  I 
shall  never  have  any  use  for  them.  I  will  live  and  die  un- 
married like  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  of  course  I  shall  leave  my 
crown  to  Giglio  when  I  quit  this  world.  Let  us  go  and  see 
them  married,  my  dear  Fairy  ;  let  me  say  one  last  farewell  to 
him ;  and  then,  if  you  please,  I  will  return  to  my  own  do- 
minions." 

So  the  Fairy  kissed  Rosalba  with  peculiar  tenderness,  and 
at  once  changed  her  wand  into  a  very  comfortable  coach-and- 
four,  with  a  steady  coachman,  and  two  respectable  footmen 
behind,  and  the  Fairy  and  Rosalba  got  into  the  coach,  which 
Angelica  and  Bulbo  entered  after  them.  As  for  honest  Bulbo, 
he  was  blubbering  in  the  most  pathetic  manner,  quite  overcome 
by  Rosalba's  misfortune.  She  was  touched  by  the  honest 
fellow's  sympathy,  promised  to  restore  to  him  the  confiscated 
estates  of  Duke  Padella  his  father,  and  created  him,  as  he  sat 
there  in  the  coach.  Prince,  Highness,  and  First  Grandee  of  the 
Crim  Tartar  Flmpire.  The  coach  moved  on,  and,  being  a  fairy 
coach,  soon  came  up  with  the  bridal  procession. 

Before  the  ceremony  at  church  it  was  the  custom  in  Pafla- 
gonia,  as  it  is  in  other  countries,  for  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
to  sign  the  Contract  of  Marriage,  which  was  to  be  witnessed 
by  the  Chancellor,  Minister,  Lord  Mayor,  and  principal  officers 
of  state.  Now,  as  the  royal  palace  was  being  painted  and 
furnished  anew,  it  was  not  ready  for  the  reception  of  the  King 
and  his  bride,  who  proposed  at  first  to  take  up  their  residence 
at  the  Prince's  palace,  that  one  which  Valoroso  occupied  when 
Angelica  was  born,  and  before  he  usurped  the  throne. 

So  the  marriage-party  drove  up  to  the  palace  :  the  digni- 
taries got'outof  their  carriages  and  stood  aside:  poor  Rosalba 
stepped  out  of  her  coach,  supported  by  Bulbo,  and  stood  almost 
fainting  up  against  the  railings,  so  as  to  have  a  last  look  of 
her  dear  Giglio.  As  for  Blackstick,  she,  according  to  her  cus- 
tom, had  flown  out  of  the  coach  window  in  some  inscrutable 
manner,  and  was  now  standing  at  the  palace  door. 

Giglio  came  up  the  steps  with  his  horrible  bride  on  his  arm, 
looking  as   pale  as   if  he  was  going   to  execution.     He  only 

II 


242 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


frowned  at  .the  Fairy  Blackstick — he  was  angry  with  her,  and 
thought  she  came  to  insult  his  misery. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,  pray,"  says  Gruffanuff,  haughtily. 
"  I  wonder  why  you  are  always  poking  your  nose  into  other 
people's  affairs  ?  " 

"  Are  you  determined  to  make  this  poor  young  man  un 
happy  ?  "  says  Blackstick. 

"  To  marry  him,  yes  !  What  business  is  it  of  yours  ?  Pray, 
madam,  don't  say  '  3'ou  '  to  a  queen,"  cries  Gruffanuff. 

"  You  won't  take  the  money  he  offered  you  ? ' 

"No." 

"  You  won't  let  him  off  his  bargain,  though  you  know  you 
cheated  him  when  you  made  him  sign  the  paper." 

"  Impudence  !  Policemen,  remove  this  woman  !  "  cries 
Gruffanuff.  And  the  policemen  were  rushing  forward,  but 
with  a  wave  of  her  wand  the  Fairy  struck  them  all  like  so 
many  statues  in  their  places. 

"You  won't  take  anything  in  exchange  for  your  bond,  Mrs. 
Gruffanuff,"  cries  the  Fairy,  with  awful  severity.  "  I  speak  for 
the  last  time." 

"  No  !  "  shrieks  Gruffanuff,  stamping  with  her  foot.  "  I'll 
have  my  husband,  my  husband,  my  husband  !  " 

"You  Shall  have  your  Husband  !  "  the  Fairy  Blackstick 
cried  ;  and  advancing  a  step,  laid  her  hand  upon  the  nose  of 
the  Knocker. 

As  she  touched  it,  the  brass  nose  seemed  to  elongate,  the 
open  mouth  opened  still  wider,  and  uttered  a  roar  which  made 
everybody  start.  The  eyes  rolled  wildly  ;  the  arms  and  legs 
uncurled  themselves,  writhed  about,  and  seemed  to  lengthen 
with  each  twist ;  the  knocker  expanded  into  a  figure  in  yellow 
livery,  six  feet  high ;  the  screws  by  which  it  was  fixed  to  the 
door  unloosed  themselves,  and  Jenkins  Gruffanuff  once 
more  trod  the  threshold  off  which  he  had  been  lifted  more 
than  twenty  years  ago  ! 

"  Master's  not  at  home,"  says  Jenkins,  just  in  his  old  voice ; 
and  Mrs.  Jenkins,  giving  a  dreadful  j'^///,  fell  down  in  a  fit,  in 
which  nobody  minded  her. 

For  everybody  was  shouting,  "  Huzzay  !  huzzay  !  "  "  Hip, 
hip,  hurray  !  "  "  Long  live  the  King  and  Queen  !  "  "  Were 
such  things  ever  seen  ?  "  "  No,  never,  never,  never  !  "  "  The 
Fairy  Blackstick  forever  !  " 

The  bells  were  ringing  double  peals,  the  guns  roaring  and 
banging  most  prodigiously.     Bulbo  was  embracing  everybody ; 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  RING. 


243 


the  Lord  Chancellor  was  flinging  up  his  wig  and  shouting  like 
a  madman ;  Hedzofif  had  got  the  Archbishop  round  the  waist, 
and  the)'  were  dancing  a  jig  for  joy ;  and  as  for  Giglio,  I  leave 
you  to  imagine  what  he  was  doing,  and  if  he  kissed  Rosalba 
once,  twice — twenty  thousand  times,  I'm  sure  I  don't  think  he 
was  wrong. 

So  Gruffanuff  opened  the  hall-door  with  a  low  bow,  j-jst  as 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  do,  and  they  all  went  in  and  signed 
the  book,  and  then  they  went  to  church  and  were  married,  and 
the  Fairy  Blackstick  sailed  away  on  her  cane,  and  was  never 
more  heard  of  in  Paflagonia. 


AUD    HERE    ENDS   THE   FIRESIDE   PANTOMIME: 


THE 

BOOK    OF    SNOBS, 

BY  ONE  OF  TFIEMSFXVES. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  genus  "  Snob  "  formed  the  subject  of  the  earliest  of 
Mr.  Thackeray's  studies  of  character.  When  he  was  an 
undergraduate  of  Cambridge,  in  1829,  there  appeared  an 
unpretending  little  weekly  periodical  entitled  "  The 
Snob  :  a  Literary  and  Scientific  Journal,"  not  "  con- 
ducted by  members  of  the  University,"  to  which  Mr, 
Thackeray  was  a  contributor  ;  and  it  probably  owed  its 
name  and  existence  to  him.  Each  number  contained 
only  six  pages,  of  a  small  octavo  size,  printed  on  tinted 
paper  of  different  colors,  green,  pink,  and  yellow  ;  and, 
as  if  to  complete  the  eccentricity  of  the  periodical,  its 
price  was  twopence-halfpenny.  "  The  Snob  "  had  but  a 
short  life,  only  eleven  numbers  having  been  published  ; 
the  first  being  dated  April  9th,  1829,  and  the  last,  June 
18,  of  the  same  year. 

In  those  contributions  which  appear  to  have  been 
written  by  Mr.  Thackeray,  indications  are  discernible  of 
the  fine  satiric  humor  with  which  he  ridiculed  vulgarity 
and  pretensions  in  "  The  Book  of  Snobs."  But  as  the 
Publishers  believe  that  the  Author  would  not  himself 
have  wished  such  fugitive  papers,  hastily  thrown  off  in 
sport  for  his  own  amusement,  at  an  early  period  of  his 
life,  to  be  republished,  none  of  them  have  been  included 
in  this  volume. 


THE 

BOOK    OF    SNOBS 

BY  ONE  OF  THEMSELVES. 


PREFATORY  REMARKS. 

\Tke  necessity  of  a  luork  on  Snobs,  demonstrated  from  History,  and  prated 
by  felicitous  illustrations  : — /  am  the  individual  destined  to  lorite  that  ivork — 
hly  vocation  is  aiuwunced  in  terms  of  ^reat  eloquence — I  shozv  that  the  zvorld 
has  been  gradiially  preparing  itself  for  the  WORK  arid  the 'MA'ii — Snobs  are  to  be 
studied  like  other  objects  of  N^atural  Science,  and  are  a  part  of  the  Beantiftd 
[with  a  large  B).  They  pervade  all  classes — Affecting  instance  of  Colonel 
Snobley.\ 

We  have  all  read  a  statement  (the  authenticity  of  which  I 
take  leave  to  doubt  entirely,  for  upon  what  calculations  I  should 
like  to  know  is  it  founded  ?) — we  have  all,  I  say,  been  favored 
by  perusing  a  remark,  that  when  the  times  and  necessities  of 
the  world  call  for  a  Man,  that  individual  is  found.  Thus  at  the 
French  Revolution  (which  the  reader  will  be  pleased  to  have 
introduced  so  early),  when  it  was  requisite  to  administer  a  cor- 
recti\'e  close  to  the  nation,  Robespierre  was  found  ;  a  most  foul 
and  nauseous  dose  indeed,  and  swallowed  eagerly  by  the 
patient,  greatly  to  the  latter's  ultimate  advantage  :  thus,  when 
it  became  necessary  to  kick  John  Bull  out  of  America,  Mr. 
Washington  stepped  forward,  and  performed  that  job  to  satis- 
faction ;  thus  when  the  Earl  of  Aldborough  was  unwell.  Profes- 
sor HoUoway  appeared  with  his  pills,  and  cured  his  lordship,  as 
per  advertisement,  &c.,  &c.  Numberless  instances  might  be 
adduced  to  show  that  when  a  nation  is  in  great  want,  the  re- 
lief is  at  hand  ;  just  as  in  tlie  Pantomime  (that  microcosm) 
where  when   Clowti  wants  anything — a  warming-pan,  a  pump- 


248  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

handle,  a  goose,  or  a  lady's  tippet — a  fellow  comes  saunter- 
ing out  from  behind  the  side-scenes  with  tlie  very  article  iri 
question. 

Again,  when  men  commence  an  undertaking,  they  always 
are  prepared  to  show  that  the  absolute  necessities  of  the  world 
demanded  its  completion. — Say  it  is  a  railroad :  the  directors 
begin  by  stating  that  "  A  more  intimate  communication  between 
Bathershins  and  Derrynane  Beg  is  necessary  for  the  advance- 
ment of  civilization,  and  demanded  by  the  multitudinous  accla- 
mations of  the  great  Irish  people."  Or  suppose  it  is  a  news- 
paper :  the  prospectus  states  that  "  At  a  time  when  the  Church 
is  in  danger,  threatened  froni  without  by  savage  fanaticism  and 
miscreant  unbelief,  and  undermined  from  within  by  dangerous 
Jesuitism  and  suicidal  Schism,  a  Want  has  been  universally 
felt — a  suffering  people  has  looked  abroad — for  an  Ecclesi- 
astical Champion  and  Guardian.  A  body  of  Prelates  and 
Gentlemen  have  therefore  stepped  forward  in  this  our  hour 
of  danger,  and  determined  on  establishing  the  Beadle  news- 
paper," &:c.,  &c.  One  or  other  of  these  points  at  least  is  in- 
controvertible :  the  public  wants  a  thing,  therefore  it  is  sup- 
plied with  it ;  or  the  public  is  supplied  with  a  thing,  therefore 
it  wants  it. 

I  have  long  gone  about  with  a  conviction  on  my  mind  that 
I  had  a  work  to  do — a  Work,  if  you  like,  with  a  great  W  ;  a 
Purpose  to  fulfil ;  a  chasm  to  leap  into,  like  Curtius,  horse  & 
foot ;  a  Great  Social  Evil  to  Discover  and  to  Remedy,  That 
Conviction  Has  Pursued  me  for  Years.  It  has  Dogged  me  in 
the  Busy  Street;  Seated  Itself  By  Me  in  The  Lonely  Study; 
Jogged  My  Elbow  as  it  Lifted  The  Wine-cup  at  The  Festive 
Board  ;  Pursued  me  through  the  Maze  of  Rotten  Row ;  Fol- 
lowed me  in  Far  Lands.  On  Brighton's  Shingly  Beach,  or 
Margate's  Sand,  the  Voice  Outpiped  the  Roaring  of  the  Sea  ; 
it  Nestlss  in  my  Nightcap,  and'It  Whispers,  "Wake,  Slumberer, 
thy  Work  Is  Not  Yet  Done."  Last  Year,  By  Moonlight,  in  the 
Colosseum,  the  Little  Sedulous  Voice  Came  To  Me  and  Said, 
"  Smith  or  Jon'^'* "  (The  Writer's  Name  is  Neither  Here  or 
There),  "  Smitu  or  Jones,  my  fine  fellow,  this  is  all  very  well, 
but  you  ought  to  be  at  home  writing  your  great  work  on 
SNOBS." 

When  a  man  has  this  sort  of  vocation  it  is  all  nonsense  at- 
tempting to  elude  it.  He  must  speak  out  to  the  nations ;  he 
must  ■iinbnsfn  himself,  as  Jeamcs  would  say,  or  choke  and  die. 
"  Mark  to  yourself  "  1  have   often   mentally  exclaimed  to  your 


PRE  FA  TOR  V  REMARKS. 


249 


humble  servant,  \'  the  gradual  wa)-  in  which  you  have  been  pre- 
pared for,  and  are  now  led  by  an  irresistible  necessity  to  enter 
upon  your  great  labor.  First,  the  World  was  made  :  then,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  Snobs  ;  they  existed  for  years  and  years,  and 
were  no  more  known  than  America.  But  presently, — ingens  pate- 
bat  felius, — the  people  become  darkly  aware  that  there  was  such 
a  race.  Not  above  five-and-twenty  years  since,  a  name,  an  ex- 
pressive monosyllable,  arose  to  designate  that  race.  That  name 
has  spread  over  England  like  railroads  subsequently ;  Snobs 
are  known  and  recognized  throughout  an  Empire  on  which  I 
am  given  to  understand  the  Sun  never  sets.  Fiaich  appears  at 
the  ripe  season,  to  chronicle  their  history  :  and  the  individual 
comes  forth  to  write  that  history  in  Punch* 

1  have  (and  for  this  gift  I  congratulate  myself  with  a  Deep 
and  abiding  Thankfulness)  an  eye  for  a  Snob.  If  the  Truthful 
is  the  Beautiful,  it  is  beautiful  to  study  even  the  Snobbish  ;  to 
track  Snobs  through  history,  as  certain  little  dogs  in  Hampshire 
hunt  out  truffles  ;  to  sink  shafts  in  society  and  come  upon  rich 
veins  of  Snob-ore.  Snobbishness  is  like  Death  in  a  quotation 
from  Horace,  which  I  hope  you  never  have  heard,  "  beating 
with  equal  foot  at  poor  men's  doors,  and  kicking  at  the  gates  of 
Eniperors."  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  judge  of  Snobs  lightly,  and 
think  they  exist  among  the  lower  classes  merely.  An  immense 
percentage  of  Snobs,  I  believe,  is  to  be  found  in  every  rank  of 
this  mortal  life.  You  must  not  judge  hastily  or  vulgarly  of 
Snobs  :  to  do  so  shows  that  you  are  yourself  a  Snob.  I  myself 
have  been  taken  for  one. 

When  I  was  taking  the  waters  at  Bagnigge  Wells,  and  living 
at  the  "  Imperial  Hotel  "  there,  there  used  to  sit  opposite  me 
at  breakfast,  for  a  short  time,  a  Snob  so  insufferable  that  I  felt 
I  should  never  get  any  benefit  of  the  waters  so  long  as  he  re- 
mained. His  name  was  Lieutenant-Colonel  Snobley,  of  a  certain 
dragoon  regiment.  He  wore  japanned  boots  and  mustaches  : 
he  lisped,  drawled,  and  left  the  '"  r's  "  out  of  his  words  :  he  was 
always  flourishing  about,  and  smoothing  his  lackered  whiskers 
with  a  huge  flaming  bandanna,  that  filled  the  room  with  an  odor 
of  musk  so  stifling  that  I  determined  to  do  battle  with  that 
Snob,  and  that  either  he  or  I  should  quit  the  Inn.  I  first 
began  harmless  conversations  with  hini ;  frightening  him  ex- 
ceedingly, for  he  did  not  know  what  to  do  when  so  attacked, 
and  had  never  the  slightest  notion  that  anybody  would  take  such 
a  liberty  with  him  as  to  speak  jfrj-/.-  then  I  handed  hinr  the 

*  These  papers  were  originally  published  in  that  popular  periodical. 


^5° 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


paper :  then,  as  he  would  take  no  notice  of  tliese  advances,  I 
used  to  look  him  in  the  face  steadily  and — and  use  my  fork  in 
the  light  of  a  toothpick.  After  two  mornings  of  this  practice, 
he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  fairly  quitted  the  place. 

Should  the  Colonel  see  this,  will  he  remember  the  Gent  who 
asked  him  if  he  thought  Piiblicoaler  was  a  fine  writer,  and  drove 
him  from  the  Hotel  with  a  four-pronged  fork? 


THE  SNOB  PLA  YFULL  V  DEAL  T  WITH.  jjji 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    SNOB    PLAYFULLY   DEALT   WITH. 

There  are  relative  and  positive  Snobs.  I  mean  by  posi- 
tive, such  persons  as  are  Snobs  everywhere,  in  all  companies, 
from  morning  till  night,  from  youth  to  the  grave,  being  by 
Nature  endowed  with  Snobbishness — and  others  who  are  Snobs 
only  in  certain  circumstances  and  relations  of  life. 

For  instance  :  I  once  knew  a  man  who  committed  before  me 
an  act  as  atrocious  as  that  which  I  have  indicated  in  the  last 
chapter  as  performed  by  me  for  the  purpose  of  disgusting 
Colonel  Snobley  ;  viz. :  the  using  the  fork  in  the  guise  of  a  tooth- 
pick. I  once,  I  say,  knew  a  man  who,  dining  in  my  company 
at  the  "  Europa  Coffee-house,"  (opposite  the  Grand  Opera,  and, 
as  everybody  k;iows,  the  only  decent  place  for  dining  at  Naples,) 
ate  pease  with  the  assistance  of  his  knife.  He  was  a  person 
with  whose  society  I  was  greatly  pleased  at  first — indeed,  we 
had  met  in  the  crater  of  Mount  Vesuvius,  and  were  subse- 
quently robbed  and  held  to  ransom  by  brigands  in  Calabria, 
which  is  nothing  to  the  purpose — a  man  of  great  powers,  excel- 
lent heart,  and  varied  information  ;  but  I  had  never  before  seen 
him  with  a  dish  of  pease,  and  his  conduct  in  regard  to  them 
caused  me  the  deepest  pain. 

After  having  seen  him  thus  publicly  comport  himself,  but 
one  course  was  open  to  me — to  cut  his  acquaintance.  I  com- 
missioned a  mutual  friend  (the  Honorable  Poly  Anthus)  to 
break  the  rqatter  to  this  gentleman  as  delicately  as  possible, 
and  to  say  that  painful  circumstances — in  nowise  affecting  M*"- 
Marrowfat's  honor,  or  my  esteem  for  him — had  occurred,  whic^ 
obliged  me  to  forego  my  intimacy  with  him  ,  and  accordingly 
we  met,  and  gave  each  other  the  cut  direct  that  night  at  the 
Duchess  of  Monte  Fiasco's  ball. 

Everybody  at  Naples  remarked  the  separation  of  the  Damon 
and  Pythias — indeed  Marrowfat  had  saved  mv  life  more  than 
once — but,  as  an  English  gentleman,  what  was  1  to  oo  ? 

My  dear  friend  was,  in  this  instance  the  Snob  relative.  It 
is  not  snobbish  of  persons  of  rank  of  any  other  nation  to  employ 

i6 


2^2 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


their  knife  in  the  manner  alluded  to.  I  have  seen  Monte 
Fiasco  clean  his  trencher  with  his  knife,  and  every  Principe  in 
company  doing  likewise.  I  have  seen,  at  the  hospitable  board 
of  PL  I.  H.  the  Grand  Duchess  Stephanie  of  Baden — (who,  if 
these  humble  lines  should  come  under  her  Imperial  eyes,  is  be- 
sought to  remember  graciously  the  most  devoted  of  her  ser- 
vants)— I  have  seen,  I  say,  the  Hereditary  Princess  of  Potz- 
tausend-Donnerwetter  (that  serenely-beautiful  woman)  use  her 
knife  in  lieu  of  a  fork  or  spoon  ;  I  have  seen  her  almost  swallow 
it,  by  Jove  !  like  Ramo  Samee,  the  Indian  juggler.  And  did  I 
blench  t  Did  my  estimation  for  the  Princess  diminish  ?  No, 
lovely  Amelia  !  One  of  the  truest  passions  that  ever  was  in- 
spired by  woman  was  raised  in  this  bosom  by  that  lady.  Beau- 
tiful one  !  long,  long  may  the  knife  carry  food  to  those  lips ! 
the  reddest  and  loveliest  in  the  world  ! 

The  cause  of  my  quarrel  with  Marrowfat  I  never  breathed 
to  mortal  soul  for  four  years.  We  met  in  the  halls  of  the  aris- 
tocracy— our  friends  and  relatives.  We  jostled  each  other  in 
the  dance  or  at  the  board  ;  but  the  estrangement  continued, 
and  seemed  irrevocable,  until  the  fourth  of  June,  last  year. 

We  met  at  Sir  George  Golloper's.  We  were  placed,  he  on 
the  right,  your  humble  servant  on  the  left  of  the  admirable  Lady 
G.  Pease  formed  part  of  the  banquet — ducks  and  green  pease, 
I  trembled  as  I  saw  Marrowfat  helped,  and  turned  away  sicken- 
ing, lest  I  should  behold  the  weapon  darting  down  his  horrid 
jaws. 

What  was  my  astonishment,  what  my  delight,  when  I  saw 
him  use  his  fork  like  any  other  Christian  !  He  did  not  admin- 
ister the  cold  steel  once.  Old  times  rushed  back  upon  me — 
the  remembrance  of  old  services — his  rescuing  me  from  the 
brigands — his  gallant  conduct  in  the  afTair  with  the  Countess 
Dei  Spinachi — his  lending  me  the  1,700/.  I  almost  burst  into 
tears  with  joy — my  voice  trembled  with  emotion.  "  George,  my 
boy  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  George  Marrowfat,  my  dear  fellow  !  a 
glass  of  wine  ! " 

Blushing — deeply  moved — almost  as  tremulous  as  I  was 
myself,  George  answered,  "  J^ra?ik,  shall  it  be  Mock  or  Madeira  ?  " 
I  could  have  hugged  him  to  my  heart  but  for  the  presence  of 
the  company.  Little  did  Lady  Golloper  know  what  was  the 
cause  of  the  emotion  which  sent  the  duckling  I  was  carving 
into  her  ladyship's  pink  satin  lap.  The  most  good-natured  of 
women  pardoned  the  error,  and  the  butler  removed  the  bird. 

W'c  have  been  the  closest  friends  ever  since,  nor,  of  course, 
has  George  repeated  his  odious  habit.     He  acquired  it  at  a 


THE  SNOB  PL  A  YFULL  V  DEAL  T  WITH. 


253 


country  school,  where  they  cultivated  pease  and  only  used  two- 
pronged  forks,  and  it  was  only  by  living  on  the  Continent  where 
the  usage  of  the  four-prong  is  general,  that  he  lost  the  horrible 
custom. 

In  this  point — and  in  this  only — I  confess  myself  a  member 
of  the  Silver-Fork  School ;  and  if  this  tale  but  induce  one  of  my 
readers  to  pause,  to  examine  in  his  own  mind  solemnly,  and 
ask,  "Do  I  or  do  I  not  eat  pease  with  a  knife?" — to  see  the 
ruin  which  may  fall  upon  himself  by  continuing  the  practice,  or 
his  family  by  beholding  the  example,  these  lines  will  not  have 
been  written  in  vain.  And  now,  whatever  other  authors  may 
be,  I  flatter  myself,  it  will  be  allowed  that  /,  at  least,  am  a 
moral  man. 

By  the  waj',  as  some  readers  are  dull  of  comprehension,  I 
may  as  w-ell  say  what  the  moral  of  this  history  is.  The  moral 
is  this — Society  having  ordained  certain  customs,  men  are  bound 
to  obey  the  law  of  society,  and  conform  to  its  harmless  orders. 

If  I  should  go  to  the  British  and  Foreign  Institute  (and 
heaven  forbid  I  should  go  under  any  pretext  or  in  any  costume 
whatever) — if  I  should  go  to  one  of  the  tea-parties  in  a  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  and  not  in  the  usual  attire  of  a  gentleman, 
viz.  :  pumps,  a  gold  waistcoat,  a  crush  hat,  a  sham  frill,  and  a 
white  choker — I  should  be  insulting  societ}^  and  eating  pease 
with  my  knife.  Let  the  porters  of  that  Institute  hustle  out  the 
individual  who  shall  so  offend.  Such  an  offender  is,  as  regards 
society,  a  most  emphatical  and  refractory  Snob.  It  has  its  code 
and  police  as  well  as  governments,  and  he  must  conform  who 
would  profit  by  the  decrees  set  forth  for  their  common  comfort. 

I  am  naturally  averse  to  egotism,  and  hate  self-laudation 
consumedl)^;  but  I  can't  help  relating  here  a  circumstance 
illustrative  of  the  point  in  question,  in  which  I  must  think  I 
acted  with  considerable  prudence. 

Being  at  Constantinople  a  few  years  since — (on  a  delicate 
mission), — the  Russians  were  playing  a  double  game,  between 
ourselves,  and  it  became  necessary  on  our  part  to  employ  an 
extra  negotiator — Leckerbiss  Pasha  of  Roumelia,  then  Chief 
Galeongee  of  the  Porte,  gave  a  diplomatic  banquet  at  his  sum- 
mer palace  at  Bujukdere.  I  was  on  the  left  of  the  Galeongee, 
and  the  Russian  agent.  Count  de  Diddloff,  on  his  dexter  side. 
Diddloff  is  a  dandy  who  would  die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain : 
he  had  tried  to  have  me  assassinated  three  times  in  the  course 
of  the  negotiation  ;  but  of  course  w^e  were  friends  in  public,  and 
saluted  each  other  in  the  most  cordial  and  charming  manner. 

The  Galeongee  is — or  was,  alas  !  for  a  bow-string  has  done 


SS54  ^-^^^  BOOK'  OF  SNOBS. 

for  him — a  staunch  supporter  of  the  old  school  of  Turkish  poli- 
tics. We  dined  with  our  fingers,  and  had  flaps  of  bread  for 
plates ;  the  only  innovation  he  admitted  was  the  use  of  Euro- 
pean liquors,  in  which  he  indulged  with  great  gusto.  He  was 
an  enormous  eater.  Amongst  the  dishes  a  very  large  one  was 
placed  before  him  of  a  lamb  dressed  in  its  wool,  stuffed  with 
prunes,  garlic,  asafoetida,  capsicums,  and  other  condiments,  the 
most  abominable  mixture  that  ever  mortal  smelt  or  tasted.  The 
Galeongee  ate  of  this  hugely  ;  and  pursuing  the  Eastern  fashion, 
insisted  on  helping  his  friends  right  and  left,  and  when  he  came 
to  a  particularly  spicy  morsel,  would  push  it  with  his  own  hands 
into  his  guests'  very  mouths. 

I  never  shall  forget  the  look  of  poor  Diddloff,  when  his 
Excellency,  rolling  up  a  large  quantity  of  this  into  a  ball  and 
exclaiming,  "  Buk  Buk  "  (it  is  very  good),  administered  the 
horrible  bolus  to  Diddloff.  The  Russian's  eyes  rolled  dread- 
fully as  he  received  it :  he  swallowed  it  with  a  grimace  that  I 
thought  must  precede  a  convulsion,  and  seizing  a  bottle  next 
him,  which  he  thought  was  Sauterne,  but  which  turned  out  to 
be  French  brandy,  he  drank  off  nearly  a  pint  before  he  knew 
his  error.  It  finished  him ;  he  was  carried  away  from  the 
dining-room  almost  dead,  and  laid  out  to  cool  in  a  summer- 
house  on  the  Bosphorus. 

When  it  came  to  my  turn,  I  took  down  the  condiment  with 
a  smile,  said  "  Bismillah,"  licked  my  lips  with  easy  gratification, 
and  when  the  next  dish  was  served,  made  up  a  ball  m}-.self  so 
dexterously,  and  popped  it  clown  the  old  Galeongee's  mouth 
with  so  much  grace,  that  his  heart  was  won.  Russia  was  put 
out  of  court  at  once,  and  the  treaty  of  Kabobanople  was  signed. 
As  for  Diddloff,  all  was  over  with  hwi :  he  was  recalled  to  St. 
Petersburg,  and  Sir  Roderick  Murchison  saw  him,  under  the 
No.  3967,  working  in  the  Ural  mines. 

The  moral  of  this  tale,  I  need  not  say,  is  that  there  are  many 
disagreeable  things  in  society  which  you  are  bound  to  take 
down,  and  to  do  so  with  a  smiling  face. 


THE  SNOB  ROYAL.  255 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE     SNOB     ROYAL. 

Long  since^  at  the  commencement  of  the  reign  of  her  pres- 
ent Gracious  Majesty,  it  chanced  "  on  a  fair  summer  evening," 
as  Mr.  James  would  say,  that  three  or  four  young  cavaliers  were 
drinking  a  cup  of  wine  after  dinner  at  the  hostelry  called  the 
"  King's  Arms,"  kept  by  Mistress  Anderson,  in  the  royal  village 
of  Kensington.  'Twas  a  balmy  evening,  and  the  wayfarers 
looked  out  on  a  cheerful  scene.  The  tall  elms  of  the  ancient 
gardens  were  in  full  leaf,  and  countless  chariots  of  the  nobility 
of  England  whirled  by  to  the  neighboring  palace,  where  princely 
Sussex  (whose  income  latterly  only  allowed  him  to  give  tea- 
parties)  entertained  his  royal  niece  at  a  state  banquet.  When 
the  caroches  of  the  nobles  had  set  down  their  owners  at  the 
banquet  hall,  their  varlets  and  servitors  came  to  quaff  a  flagon 
of  nut-brown  ale  in  the  "  King's  Arms  "  gardens  hard  by.  We 
watched  these  fellows  from  our  lattice.  By  Saint  Boniface 
'twas  a  rare  sight ! 

The  tulips  in  Mynheer  Van  Dunck's  gardens  were  not  more 
gorgeous  than  tlie  liveries  of  these  pie-coated  retainers.  All 
the  flowers  of  the  field  bloomed  in  their  ruffled  bosoms,  all  the 
hues  of  the  rainbow  gleamed  in  their  plush  breeches,  and  the  long- 
caned  ones  walked  up  and  down  the  garden  with  that  charming 
solemnity,  that  delightful  quivering  swagger  of  the  calves,  which 
has  always  had  a  frantic  fascination  for  us.  The  walk  was  not 
wide  enough  for  them  as  the  shoulder-knots  strutted  up  and 
down  it  in  canar}^,  and  crimson,  and  light  blue. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  their  pride,  a  little  bell  was  rung, 
a  side  door  opened,  and  (after  setting  down  their  Royal  Mis- 
tress) her  Majesty's  own  crimson  footmen,  with  epaulets  and 
plushes,  came  in. 

It  was  pitiable  to  see  the  other  poor  Johns  slink  off  at  this 
arrival !  Not  one  of  the  honest  private  Plushes  could  stand  up 
before  the  Royal  Flunkeys.  They  left  the  walk :  they  sneaked 
into  dark  holes  and  drank  their  beer  in  silence.  The  Royal 
Plush  kept  possession  of  the  garden  until  the  Royal  Plush 
dinner  was  announced,  when  it  retired,  and  we  heard  from  the 
pavilion  where  they  dined,  conservative  cheers  and  speeches, 
and  Kentish  fires.     The  other  Flunkeys  we  never  saw  more. 


25^ 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


My  dear  Flunkeys,  so  absurdly  conceited  at  one  moment 
and  so  abject  at  the  next,  are  but  the  types  of  their  masters  in 
this  world.  He  who  meanly  admifes  mean  things  is  a  Snob — 
perhaps  that  is  a  safe  definition  of  the  character. 

And  this  is  why  I  have,  with  the  utmost  respect,  ventured 
to  place  the  Snob  Royal  at  the  head  of  my  list,  causing  all 
others  to  give  way  before  him,  as  the  Flunkeys  before  the  royal 
representative  in  Kensington  Gardens.  To  say  of  such  and 
such  a  Gracious  Sovereign  that  he  is  a  Snob,  is  but  to  say  that 
his  Majesty  is  a  man.  Kings,  too,  are  men  and  Snobs.  In  a 
country  where  Snobs  are  in  the  majority,  a  prime  one,  surely, 
cannot  be  unfit  to  govern.  With  us  they  have  succeeded  to 
admiration. 

For  instance,  James  I.  was  a  Snob,  and  a  Scotch  Snob,  than 
which  the  world  contains  no  more  offensive  creature.  He  ap- 
pears to  have  had  not  one  of  the  good  qualities  of  a  man — 
neither  courage,  nor  generosity,  nor  honesty,  nor  brains  ;  but  read 
what  the  great  Divines  and  Doctors  of  England  said  about  him  ! 
Charles  II.,  his  grandson,  was  a  rogue,  but  not  a  Snob  ;  whilst 
Louis  XIV.,  his  old  squaretoes  of  a  contemporary, — the  great 
worshii^per  of  Bigwiggery — has  always  struck  me  as  a  most  un- 
doubted and  Royal  Snob. 

I  will  not,  however,  take  instances  from  our  own  country  of 
Royal  Snobs,  but  refer  to  a  neighboring  kingdom,  that  of 
Brentford — and  its  monarch,  the  late  great  and  lamented  Gor- 
gius  IV.  With  the  same  humility  with  which  the  footmen  at 
the  "  King's  Arms "  gave  way  before  the  Plush  Royal,  the 
aristocracy  of  the  Brentford  nation  bent  down  and  truckled  be- 
fore Gorgius,  and  proclaimed  him  the  first  gentleman  in  Europe. 
And  it's  a  wonder  to  think  what  is  the  gentlefolks'  opinion  of  a 
gentleman,  when  they  gave  Gorgius  such  a  title. 

What  is  it  to  be  a  gentleman  ?  Is  it  to  be  honest,  to  be 
gentle,  to  be  generous,  to  be  brave,  to  be  wise,  and,  possessing 
all  these  qualities,  to  exercise  them  in  the  most  graceful  outward 
manner?  Ought  a  gentleman  to  be  a  loyal  son,  a  true  husband, 
and  honest  father .?  Ought  his  life  to  be  decent — his  bills  to 
be  paid — his  tastes  to  be  high  and  elegant — his  aims  in  life 
lofty  and  noble  ?  In  a  word,  ought  not  the  Biography  of  a 
First  Gentleman  in  Europe  to  be  of  such  a  nature  that  it 
might  be  read  in  Young  Ladies'  Schools  with  advantage,  and 
studied  with  profit  in  the  Seminaries  of  Young  Gentlemen  .?  I 
put  this  question  to  all  instructors  of  youth — to  Mrs.  Ellis  and 
the  Women  of  England ;  to  all  schoolmasters,  from  Doctor 
Hawtrey  down  to   Mr.  Squeers.     1  conjure  up  before  me  an 


THE  SiYOB  ROYAL. 


257 


awful  tribunal  of  youth  and  innocence,  attended  by  its  venerable 
instructors  (like  the  ten  thousand  red-cheeked  charity-children 
in  Saint  Paul's),  sitting  in  judgment,  and  Gorgius  pleading  his 
cause  in  the  midst.     Out  of  Court,  out  of  Court,  fat  old  Flori- 

zel !     Beadles,  turn  out  that  bloated,  pimple-faced  man  ! 

If  Gorgius  must  have  a  statue  in  the  new  Palace  which  the 
Brentford  nation  is  building,  it  ought  to  be  set  up  in  the  Flun- 
key's Hall.  He  should  be  represented  cutting  out  a  coat,  in 
which  art  he  is  said  to  have  excelled.  He  also  invented  Ma- 
raschino punch,  a  shoe-buckle  (this  was  in  the  vigor  of  his 
youth,  and  the  prime  force  of  his  invention),  and  a  Chinese  pa- 
vilion, the  most  hideous  building  in  the  world.  He  could  drive 
a  four-in-hand  very  nearly  as  well  as  the  Brighton  coachman, 
could  fence  elegantly,  and  it  is  said,  played  the  fiddle  well. 
And  he  smiled  with  such  irresistible  fascination,  that  persons 
who  were  introduced  into  his  august  presence  became  his 
victims,  body  and  soul,  as  a  rabbit  becomes  the  prey  of  a  great 
big  boa-constrictor. 

I  would  wager  that  if  Mr.  Widdicomb  were,  by  a  revolution, 
placed  on  the  throne  of  Brentford,  people  would  be  equally 
fascinated  by  his  irresistibly  majestic  smile,  and  tremble  as  they 
knelt  down  to  kiss  his  hand.  If  he  went  to  Dublin  they  would 
erect  an  obelisk  on  the  spot  where  he  first  landed,  as  the  Pad- 
dylanders  did  when  Gorgius  visited  them.  We  have  all  of  us 
read  with  delight  that  story  of  the  King's  voyage  to  Haggisland, 
where  his  presence  inspired  such  a  fury  of  loyalty  ;  and  where 
the  most  famous  man  of  the  country — the  Baron  of  Bradwar- 
dine — coming  on  board  the  royal  yacht,  and  finding  a  glass  out 
of  which  Gorgius  had  drunk,  put  it  into  his  coat-pocket  as  an 
inestimable  relic,  and  went  ashore  again.  But  the  Baron  sat 
down  upon  the  glass  and  broke  it,  and  cut  his  coat  tails  very 
much  ;  and  the  inestimable  relic  was  lost  to  the  world  forever. 
O  noble  Bradwardine  !  What  old-world  superstition  could  set 
you  on  your  knees  before  such  an  idol  as  that  ? 

If  you  want  to  moralize  upon  the  mutability  of  human 
affairs,  go  and  see  the  figure  of  Gorgius  in  his  real,  identic  'i 
robes,  at  the  wax-work. — Admittance  one  shilling.  Children- 
and  flunkeys  sixpence.     Go,  and  pay  sixpence. 

17 


Z^S  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   INFLUEifCS   OF   THE   ARISTOCRACY    ON    SNOBS. 

Last  Sunday  week,  being  at  church  in  this  City,  and  the 
service  just  ended,  I  heard  two  Snobs  conversing  about  the 
Parson.  One  was  asking  the  other  who  the  clergyman  was  ? 
"  He  is  Mr.  So-and-so,'"  the  second  Snob  answered,  "  domestic 
chaplain  to  the  Earl  of  What-d'ye-cairim."  "  Oh,  is  he  ?  "  said 
the  first  Snob,  with  a  tone  of  indescribable  satisfaction. — The 
Parson's  orthodoxy  and  identity  were  at  once  settled  in  this 
Snob's  mind.  He  knew  no  more  about  the  Earl  than  about  the 
Chaplain,  but  he  took  the  latter's  character  upon  the  authority 
of  the  former ;  and  went  home  quite  contented  with  his  Rever- 
ence, like  a  little  truckling  Snob. 

This  incident  gave  me  more  matter  for  reflection  even  than 
the  sermon  :  and  wonderment  at  the  extent  and  prevalence  of 
Lordolatry  in  this  country.  What  could  it  matter  to  Snob 
whether  his  Reverence  were  chaplain  to  his  Lordship  or  not  ? 
\\'hat  Peerage-worship  there  is  all  through  this  free  country  ! 
How  we  are  all  implicated  in  it,  and  more  or  less  down  on  our 
knees. — And  with  regard  to  the  great  subject  on  hand,  I  think 
that  the  influence  of  the  Peerage  upon  Snobbishness  has  been 
more  remarkable  than  that  of  any  other  institution.  The 
increase,  encouragement,  and  maintenance  of  Snobs  are  among 
the  "  priceless  services,"  as  Lord  John  Russell  says,  which  we 
owe  to  the  nobility. 

It  can't  be  otherwise.  A  man  becomes  enormously  rich,  or 
he  jobs  successfully  in  the  aid  of  a  Minister,  or  he  wins  a  great 
battle,  or  executes  a  treaty,  or  is  a  clever  lawyer  who  makes  a 
multitude  of  fees  and  ascends  the  bench  ;  and  the  country 
rewards  him  forever  with  a  gold  coronet  (with  more  or  less 
balls  or  leaves)  and  a  title,  and  a  rank  as  legislator.  "Your 
merits  are  so  great,"  says  the  nation,  "  that  your  children  shall 
be  allowed  to  reign  over  us,  in  a  manner.  It  does  not  in  the 
least  matter  that  your  eldest  son  be  a  fool :  we  think  your 
ser\dces  so  remarkable,  that  he  shall  have  the  reversion  of  your 
honors  when  death  vacates  your  noble  shoes.  If  you  are  poor, 
we  will  give  you  such  a  sum  of  money  as  shall  enable  you  and 
the  eldest-born  of  your  race  forever  to  live  in  fat  and  splendor. 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  ARISTOCRACY  ON  SNOBS.     259 

It  is  our  wish  that  there  should  be  a  race  set  apart  in  this 
happy  country,  who  shall  hold  the  first  rank,  have  the  first 
prizes  and  chances  in  all  government  jobs  and  patronages. 
We  cannot  make  all  your  dear  children  Peers — that  would  make 
Peerage  common  and  crowd  the  House  of  Lords  uncomfort- 
ably— but  the  young  ones  shall  have  everything  a  Government 
can  give  :  they  shall  get  the  pick  of  all  the  places  :  they  shall 
be  Captains  and  Lieutenant-Colonels  at  nineteen,  when  hoary 
headed  old  lieutenants  are  spending  thirty  years  at  drill :  they 
shall  command  ships  at  one-and-twenty,  and  veterans  who 
fought  before  they  were  born.  And  as  we  are  eminently  a  free 
people,  and  in  order  to  encourage  all  men  to  do  their  duty,  we 
say  to  any  man  of  any  rank — get  enormously  rich,  make  im- 
mense fees  as  a  lawyer,  or  great  speeches,  or  distinguish  yourself 
and  win  battles — and  you,  even  you,  shall  come  into  the  privi- 
leged class,  and  your  children  shall  reign  naturally  over  ours." 

How  can  we  help  Snobbishness,  with  such  a  prodigious 
national  institution  erected  for  its  worship  ?  How  can  we  help 
cringing  to  Lords  ;  Flesh  and  blood  can't  do  otherwise.  What 
man  can  withstand  this  prodigious  temptation  ?  Inspired  by 
what  is  called  a  noble  emulation,  some  people  grasp  at  honors 
and  win  them  ;  others,  too  weak  or  mean,  blindly  admire  and 
grovel  before  those  who  have  gained  them  ;  others,  not  being 
able  to  acquire  them,  furiously  hate,  abuse,  and  envy.  There 
are  only  a  few  bland  and  not-in-the-least-conceited  philosophers, 
who  can  behold  the  state  of  society,  viz  :  Toadyism,  organized : 
— base  Man-and-Mammon  worship,  instituted  by  command  of 
law  : — Snobbishness,  in  a  word,  perpetuated, — and  mark  the 
phenomenon  calmly.  And  of  these  calm  moralists,  is  there 
one,  I  wonder,  whose  heart  would  not  throb  with  pleasure  if 
he  could  be  seen  walking  arm-in-arm  with  a  couple  of  dukes 
down  Pall  Mall  t  No  :  it  is  impossible,  in  our  condition  of 
society,  not  to  be  sometimes  a  Snob. 

On  one  side  it  encourages  the  commoner  to  be  snobbishly 
mean,  and  the  noble  to  be  snobbishly  arrogant.  When  a  noble 
marchioness  writes  in  her  travels  about  the  hard  necessity 
under  which  steamboat  travellers  labor  of  being  brought  into 
contact  "  with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people  :  "  implying 
that  a  fellowship  with  God's  creatures  is  disagreeable  to  her 
Ladyship,  who  is  their  superior  :— when,  I  say,  the  Marchioness 

of w-rites  in  this  fashion,  we  must  consider  that  out  of  her 

natural  heart  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  any  woman  to 
have  had  such  a  sentiment ;  but  that  the  habit  of  truckling  and 
cringing,  which  all  who  surround    her   have  adopted  towards 


26o  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

this  beautiful  and  magnificent  lady, — this  proprietor  of  so  many 
black  and  other  diamonds, — has  really  induced  her  to  believe 
that  she  is  the  superior  of  the  world  in  general  :  and  that 
people  are  not  to  associate  with  her  except  awfully  at  a  dis- 
tance. I  recollect  being  once  at  the  city  of  Grand  Cairo, 
through  which  a  European  Royal  Prince  was  passing  India- 
wards.  One  night  at  the  inn  there  was  a  great  disturbance  :  a 
man  had  drowned  himself  in  the  well  hard  by  :  all  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  hotel  came  bustling  into  the  Court,  and  amongst 
others  your  humble  servant,  who  asked  of  a  certain  young  man 
the  reason  of  the  disturbance.  How  was  I  to  know  that  this 
young  gent  was  a  prince  ?  He  had  not  his  crown  and  sceptre 
on  :  he  was  dressed  in  a  white  jacket  and  felt  hat :  but  he 
looked  surprised  at  anybody  speaking  to  him  :  answered  an 
unintelligible  monosyllable,  and — beckoned  /lis  aide-de-camp  to 
come  and  speak  to  me.  It  is  our  fault,  not  that  of  the  great,  that 
they  should  fancy  themselves  so  far  above  us.  If  you  will 
fling  yourself  under  the  wheels,  Juggernaut  will  go  over  you, 
depend  upon  it ;  and  if  you  and  I,  my  dear  friend,  had  Kotoo 
performed  before  us  every  day, — found  people  whenever  we 
appeared  grovelling  in  slavish  adoration,  we  should  drop  into 
the  airs  of  superiority  quite  naturally,  and  accept  the  greatness 
with  which  the  world  insisted  upon  endowing  us. 

Here  is  an  instance,  out  of  Lord  L 's  travels,  of  that 

calm,  good-natured,  undoubting  way  in  which  a  great  man 
accepts  the  homage  of  his  inferiors.  After  making  some  pro- 
found and  ingenious  remarks  about  the  town  of  Brussels,  his 
lordship  says  : — "  Staying  some  days  at  the  Hotel  de  Belle 
Vue — a  greatly  overrated  establishment,  and  not  nearly  so 
comfortable   as  the   Hotel   de   France — I   made  acquaintance 

with  Dr.  L ,  the  physician  of  the  Mission.    He  was  desirous 

of  doing  the  honor  of  the  place  to  me,  and  he  ordered  for  us  a 
dtner  en  gourmand  at  the  chief  restaurateur's,  maintaining  it 
surpassed  the  Rocher  at  Paris.  Six  or  eight  partook  of  the 
entertainment,  and  we  all  agreed  it  was  infinitely  inferior  to 
the  Paris  display,  and  much  more  extravagant.  So  much  for 
the  copy." 

And  so  much  for  the  gentleman  who  gave  the  dinner.     Dr. 

L ,  desirous  to  do  his  lordship  "  the  honor  of  the  place," 

feasts  him  with  the  best  victuals  money  can  procure — and  my 
lord  finds  the  entertainment  extravagant  and  inferior.  Ex- 
travagant!  it  was  not  extravagant  to  ///;;/,•  —  Inferior!     Mr. 

L did  his  best  to  satisfy  those  noble  jaws,  and  my  lord 

receives  the   entertainment,   and   dismisses  the  giver   with   a 


THE  "COURT  CIRCULAR."  261 

rebuke.     It  is  like  a  three-tailed  Pasha  grumbling  about  an 
unsatisfactory  backsheesh. 

But  how  should  it  be  otherwise  in  a  country  where  Lordol- 
atry  is  part  of  our  creed,  and  where  our  children  are  brought 
up  to  respect  the  "  Peerage "  as  the  Englishman's  second 
Bible. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   COURT   CIRCULAR,"   AND    ITS    INFLUENCE   ON    SNOBS. 

Example  is  the  best  of  precepts ;  so  let  us  begin  with  a 
true  and  authentic  story,  showing  how  young  aristocratic  snobs 
are  reared,  and  how  early  their  Snobbishness  may  be  made  to 
bloom.  A  beautiful  and  fashionable  lady — (pardon,  gracious 
madam,  that  your  story  should  be  made  public  ;  but  it  is  so 
moral  that  it  ought  to  be  known  to  the  universal  world) — told 
me  that  in  her  early  youth  she  had  a  little  acquaintance,  who 
is  now  indeed  a  beautiful  and  fashionable  lady  too.  In  men- 
tioning Miss  Snobky,  daughter  of  Sir  Snobby  Snobky,  whose  pre- 
sentation at  Court  caused  such  a  sensation,  need  I  say  more  ? 

When  Miss  Snobky  was  so  very  young  as  to  be  in  the  nur- 
sery regions,  and  to  walk  of  early  mornings  in  St.  James's  Park, 
protected  by  a  French  governess  and  followed  by  a  huge 
hirsute  flunkey  in  the  canary-colored  livery  of  the  Snobky,  she 
used  occasionally  in  these  promenades  to  meet  with  young  Lord 
Claude  Lollipop,  the  Marquis  of  Sillabub's  younger  son.  In 
the  very  height  of  the  season,  from  some  unexplained  cause, 
the  Snobkys  suddenly  determined  upon  leaving  town.  Miss 
Snobky  spoke  to  her  female  friend  and  confidante.  "  What 
will  poor  Claude  Lollipop  say  when  he  hears  of  my  absence  ?  " 
asked  the  tender-hearted  child. 

'*  Oh,  perhaps  he  won't  hear  of  it,"  answers  the  confidante. 

"My  dear,  he  will  read  it  in  the  papers,''  replied  the  dear 
little  fashionable  rogue  of  seven  years  old.  She  knew  already 
her  importance,  and  how  all  the  world  of  England,  how  all  the 
would-be-genteel  people,  how  all  the  silver-fork  worshippers, 
how  all  the  tattle-mongers,  how  all  the  grocers'  ladies,  the 
tailors'  ladies,  the  attorneys'  and  merchants'  ladies,  and  the 
people  living  at  Clapham  and  Brunswick  Square, — who  have 
no  more  chance  of  consorting  with  a  Snobky  than  my  beloved 


262  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

reader  has  of  dining  with  the  Emperor  of  China — yet  watched 
the  movements  of  the  Snobkys  with  interest,  and  were  glad  to 
know  when  they  came  to   London  and  left  it. 

Here  is  the  account  of  Miss  Snobky's  dress,  and  that  o£ 
her  mother,  Lady  Snobky,  from  the  papers  : — 

"miss  snobky. 

"  Habit  de  Cour,  composed  of  a  yellow  nankeen  illusion 
dress  over  a  slip  of  rich  pea-green  corduroy,  trimmed  en  tab- 
lier,  with  bouquets  of  Brussels  sprouts  :  the  body  and  sleeves 
handsomely  trimmed  with  calimanco,  and  festooned  with  a  pink 
train  and  white  radishes.     Head-dress,  carrot  and  lappets. 

"  LADY  SNOBKY, 

"  Costume  de  Cour,  composed  of  a  train  of  the  most  superb 
Pekin  bandannas,  elegantly  trimmed  with  spangles,  tinfoil,  and 
red-tape.  Bodice  and  under-dress  of  sky-blue  velveteen,  trim- 
med with  bouffants  and  noeuds  of  bell-pulls.  Stomacher,  a 
muffin.  Head-dress,  a  bird's  nest,  with  a  bird  of  Paradise, 
over  a  rich  brass  knocker  en  ferroniere.  This  splendid  cos- 
tume, by  Madame  Crinoline,  of  Regent  Street,  was  the  object 
of  universal  admiration." 

This  is  what  you  read.  Oh,  Mrs.  Ellis  !  Oh,  mothers, 
daughters,  aunts,  grandmothers  of  England,  this  is  the  sort  of 
writing  which  is  put  in  the  newspapers  for  you  !  How  can 
you  help  being  the  mothers,  daughters,  &c.,  of  Snobs,  so  long 
as  this  balderdash  is  set  before  you  ? 

You  stuff  the  little  rosy  foot  of  a  Chinese  young  lady  of 
fashion  into  a  slipper  that  is  about  the  size  of  a  salt-cruet,  and 
keep  the  poor  little  toes  there  imprisoned  and  twisted  up  so 
long  that  the  dwarfishness  becomes  irremediable.  Later,  the 
foot  would  not  expand  to  the  natural  size  were  you  to  give  her 
a  washing-tub  for  a  shoe,  and  for  all  her  life  she  has  little  feet, 
and  is  a  cripple.  Oh,  my  dear  Miss  Wiggins,  thank  your 
stars  that  those  beautiful  feet  of  yours — though  I  declare  when 
you  walk  they  are  so  small  as  to  be  almost  invisible — thank 
your  stars  that  society  never  so  practised  upon  them  ;  but  look 
around  and  see  how  many  friends  of  ours  in  the  highest  circles 
have  had  their  brains  so  prematurely  and  hopelessly  pinched 
and  distorted. 

How  can  you  expect  that  those  poor  creatures  are  to  move 


THE  ''COURT  circular:*  263 

naturally  when  the  world  and  their  parents  have  mutilated 
them  so  cruelly.  As  long  as  a  Court  Circular  exists,  how  the 
deuce  are  peoi^le  whose  names  are  chronicled  in  it  ever  to  be- 
lieve themselves  the  equal  of  the  cringing  race  which  daily 
reads  that  abominable  trash  ?  I  believe  that  ours  is  the  only 
country  in  the  world  now  where  the  Court  Circular  remains  in 
full  flourish — where  you  read,  "This  day  his  Royal  Highness 
Prince  Pattypan  was  taken  an  airing  in  his  go-cart."  "  The 
Princess  Pimminy  was  taken  a  drive,  attended  by  her  ladies  of 
honor,  and  accompanied  by  her  doll,"  &c.  We  laugh  at  the 
solemnity  with  which  Saint  Simon  announces  that  Sa  Majcsie 
sc  mcdicameute  aujourd'hui.  Under  our  very  noses  the  same 
folly  is  daily  going  on.  That  wonderful  and  mysterious  man, 
the  author  of  the  Court  Circular,  drops  in  with  his  budget  at 
the  newspaper  offices  every  night.  I  once  asked  the  editor  of 
a  paper  to  allow  me  to  lie  in  wait  and  see  him. 

I  am  told  that  in  a  kingdom  where  there  is  a  German  King- 
Consort  (Portugal  it  must  be,  for  the  Queen  of  that  country 
married  a  German  Prince,  who  is  g/eatly  admired  and  re- 
spected by  the  natives,)  whenever  the  Consort  takes  the  diver- 
sion of  shooting  among  the  rabbit-warrens  of  Cintra,  or  the 
p'.)easant-preserves  of  Mafra,  he  has  a  keeper  to  load  his  guns, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  and  then  they  are  handed  to  the  noble- 
man, his  equerry,  and  the  nobleman  hands  them  to  the  Prince, 
who  blazes  away — gives  back  the  discharged  gun  to  the  noble- 
man, who  gives  it  to  the  keeper,  and  so  on.  But  the  Prince 
tvon't  take  the  guu  from  the  hands  of  the  loader. 

As  long  as  this  unnatural  and  monstrous  etiquette  continues, 
Snobs  there  must  be.  The  three  persons  engaged  in  this 
transaction  are,  for  the  time  being,  Snobs. 

1.  The  keeper — the  least  Snob  of  all,  because  he  is  dis- 
charging his  daily  duty ;  but  he  appears  here  as  a  Snob,  that  is 
to  sav,  in  a  position  of  debasement,  before  another  human 
being'  (the  Prince),  with  whom  he  is  only  allowed  to  commu- 
nicate through  another  party.  A  free  Portuguese  gamekeeper, 
who  professes  himself  to  be  unworthy  to  communicate  directly 
with  any  person,  confesses  himself  to  be  a  Snob. 

2.  The  nobleman  in  waiting  is  a  Snob,  If  it  degrades  the 
Prince  to  receive  the  gun  from  the  gamekeeper,  it  is  degrading 
to  the  nobleman  in  waiting  to  execute  that  service.  He  acts  as 
a  Snob  towards  the  keeper,  whom  he  keeps  from  communica- 
tion with  the  Prince — a  Snob  towards  the  Prince,  to  whom  he 
pays  a  degrading  homage. 


264  "^^^^  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

3.  The  King-Consort  of  Portugal  is  a  Snob  for  insulting 
fellow-men  in  this  way.  There's  no  harm  in  his  accepting  the 
services  of  the  keeper  directly;  but  indirectly  he  insults  the 
service  performed,  and  the  two  servants  who  perform  it ;  and 
therefore,  I  say,  respectfully,  is  a  most  undoubted,  though 
royal  Sn-b. 

And  then  you  read  in  the  Diario  do  Gohcrno — "  Yesterday, 
Jiis  Majesty  the  King  took  the  diversion  of  shooting  m  the 
.voods  of  Cintra,  attended  by  Colonel  the  Honorable  Whiske- 
rando  Sombrero.  His  Majesty  returned  to  the  Necessidades  to 
lunch,  at,"  &c.,  &c. 

Oh  !  that  Court  Circular  f  once  more,  I  exclaim.  Down 
with  the  Court  Circular — that  engine  and  propagator  of  Snob- 
bishness !  I  promise  to  subscribe  for  a  year  to  any  daily  paper 
that  shall  come  out  without  a  Court  Circular — were  at  tWo.  Morn- 
ing Herald  itself.  When  I  read  that  trash  I  rise  in  my  wrath ; 
I  feel  myself  disloyal,  a  regicide,  a  member  of  the  Calf's  Head 
Club.  The  only  Court  Circular  story  which  ever  pleased  me, 
was  that  of  the  King  of  Spain,  who  fti  great  part  was  roasted, 
because  there  was  not  time  for  the  Prime  Minister  to  command 
the  Lord  Chamberlain  to  desire  the  Grand  Gold  Stick  to  order 
the  first  page  in  waiting  to  bid  the  chief  of  the  flunkeys  to 
request  the  House  maid  of  Honor  to  bring  up  a  pail  of  water  to 
put  his  Majesty  out. 

I  am  like  the  Pasha  of  three  tails,  to  whom  the  Sultan  sends 
his  Court  Circular,  the  bowstring. 

It  chokes  me.     May  its  usage  be  abolished  forever. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHAT   SNOBS   ADMIRE. 


Now  let  us  consider  how  difficult  it  is  even  for  great  men  to 
escape  from  being  Snobs.  It  is  very  well  for  the  reader,  whose 
fine  feelings  are  disgusted  by  the  assertion  that  Kings,  Princes, 
Lords,  are  Snobs,  to  say,  "  You  are  confessedly  a  Snob  your- 
self. In  professing  to  depict  Snobs,  it  is  only  your  own  ugly 
mug  which  you  are  copying  with  a  Narcissus-like  conceit  and 
fatuity."     But  I  shall  pardon  this  explosion  of  illtemper  on  the 


WIIA  T  SNOBS  ADMIRE. 


265 


part  of  my  constant  reader,  reflecting  upon  this  misfortune  of 
his  birth  and  country.  It  is  impossible  for  any  Briton,  perhaps, 
not  to  be  a  Snob  in  some  degree.  If  people  can  be  convinced 
of  this  fact,  an  immense  point  is  gained,  surely.  If  I  have 
pointed  out  the  disease,  let  us  hope  that  other  scientific  charac- 
ters may  discover  the  remedy. 

If  you,  who  are  a  person  of  the  middle  ranks  of  life,  are  a 
Snob, — you  whom  nobody  flatters  particularly  ;  you  who  have 
no  toadies  ;  you  whom  no  cringing  flunkeys  or  shopmen  bow 
out  of  doors  ;  you  whom  the  policeman  tells  to  move  on  ;  you 
who  are  jostled  in  the  crowd  of  this  world,  and  amongst  the 
Snobs  our  brethren  :  consider  how  much  harder  it  is  for  a  man 
to  escape  who  has  not  your  advantages,  and  is  all  his  life  long 
subject  to  adulation  ;  the  butt  of  meanness  ;  consider  how  diffi- 
cult it  is  for  the  Snobs'  idol  not  to  be  a  Snob. 

As  I  was  discoursing  with  my  friend  Eugenio  in  this  impres- 
sive way.  Lord  Buckram  passed  us,  the  son  of  the  Marquis  of 
Bagwig,  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  family  mansion  in  Red 
Lion  Square.  His  noble  father  and  mother  occupied,  as  every- 
body knows,  distinguished  posts  in  the  Courts  of  late  Sover- 
eigns. The  Marquis  was  Lord  of  the  Pantry,  and  her  Ladyship, 
Lady  of  the  Powder  Closet  to  Queen  Charlotte.  Buck  (as  I 
call  him,  for  we  are  very  familiar)  gave  me  a  nod  as  he  passed, 
and  I  proceeded  to  show  Eugenio  how  it  was  impossible  that 
this  nobleman  should  not  be  one  of  ourselves,  having  been 
practised  upon  by  Snobs  all  his  life. 

His  parents  resolved  to  give  him  a  public  education,  and 
sent  him  to  school  at  the  earliest  possible  period.  The  Reverend 
Otto  Rose,  D.  D.,  Principal  of  the  Preparatory  Academy  for 
young  noblemen  and  gentlemen,  Richmond  Lodge,  took  this 
little  Lord  in  hand,  and  fell  down  and  worshipped  him.  He 
always  introduced  him  to  fathers  and  mothers  who  came  to  visit 
their  children  at  the  school.  He  referred  with  pride  and  pleas- 
ure to  the  most  noble  the  Marquis  of  Bagwig,  as  one  of  the 
kind  friends  and  patrons  of  his  Seminary.  He  made  Lord 
Buckram  a  bait  for  such  a  multiplicity  of  pupils,  that  a  new  wing 
was  built  to  Richmond  Lodge,  and  thirty-five  new  little  white 
dimity  beds  were  added  to  the  establishment.  Mrs.  Rose  used 
to  take  out  the  little  Lord  in  the  one-horse  chaise  with  her 
when  she  paid  visits,  until  the  Rector's  lady  and  the  Surgeon's 
wife  almost  died  with  envy.  His  own  son  and  Lord  Buckram 
having  been  discovered  robbing  an  orchard  together,  the  Doctor 
flogged  his  own  flesh  and  blood  most  unmercifully  for  leading 
the  young  Lord  astray.     He  parted  from  him  with  tears.  There 


266  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

was  always  a  letter  directed  to  the  Most  Noble  the  Marquis  of 
Bagwig,  on  the  Doctor's  study  table,  when  any  visitors  were 
received  by  him. 

At  Eton,  a  great  deal  of  Snobbishness  was  thrashed  out  of 
Lord  Buckram,  and  he  was  birched  with  perfect  impartiality. 
Even  there,  however,  a  select  band  of  sucking  tuft-hunters  fol- 
lowed him.  Young  Crcesus  lent  him  three-and-twenty  bran  new 
sovereigns  out  of  his  father's  bank.  Young  Snaily  did  his  exer- 
cises for  him,  and  tried  "to  know  him  at  home  ;"  but  Young 
Bull  licked  him  in  a  fight  of  fifty-five  minutes,  and  he  was  caned 
several  times  with  great  advantage  for  not  sufficiently  polishing 
his  master  Smith's  shoes.  Boys  are  not  all  toadies  in  the 
morning  of  life. 

But  when  he  went  to  the  University,  crowds  of  toadies 
sprawled  over  him.  The  tutors  toadied  him.  The  fellows  in 
hall  paid  him  great  clumsy  compliments.  The  Dean  never  re- 
marked his  absence  from  Chapel,  or  heard  any  noise  issuing 
from  his  rooms.  A' number  of  respectable  young  fellows,  (it  is 
among  the  respectable,  the  Baker  Street  class,  that  Snobbish- 
ness flourishes,  more  than  among  any  set  of  people  in  England) 
— a  number  of  these  clung  to  him  like  leeches.  There  was  no 
end  now  to  Croesus's  loans  of  money ;  and  Buckram  couldn't 
ride  out  with  the  hounds,  but  Snaily  (a  timid  creature  by  nature) 
was  in  the  field,  and  would  take  any  leap  at  which  his  friend 
chose  to  ride.  Young  Rose  came  up  to  the  same  College, 
having  been  kept  back  for  that  express  purpose  by  his  father. 
He  spent  a  quarter's  allowance  in  giving  Buckram  a  single 
dinner  ;  but  he  knew  there  was  always  pardon  for  him  for  ex- 
travagance in  such  a  cause ;  and  a  ten-pound  note  always  came 
to  him  from  home  when  he  mentioned  Buckram's  name  in  a 
letter.  What  wild  visions  entered  the  brains  of  Mrs.  Podge 
and  Miss  Podge,  the  wife  and  daughter  of  the  Principal  of 
Lord  Buckram's  College,  I  don't  know,  but  that  reverend  old 
gentleman  was  too  profound  a  flunkey  by  nature  ever  for  one 
minute  to  think  that  a  child  of  his  could  marry  a  nobleman. 
He  therefore  hastened  on  his  daughter's  union  with  Professor 
Crab. 

When  Lord  Buckram,  after  taking  his  honorary  degree,  (foi 
Alma  Mater  is  a  Snob,  too,  and  truckles  to  a  Lord  like  the 
rest,) — when  Lord  Buckram  went  abroad  to  finish  his  educa- 
tion, you  all  know  what  dangers  he  ran,  and  what  numbers  of 
caps  were  set  at  him.  Lady  Leach  and  her  daughters  followed 
him  from  Paris  to  Rome,  and  from  Rome  to  Baden-Baden  ; 
Miss  Leggitt  burst  into  tears  before  his  face  when  he  announced 


IVIIA  T  SNOBS  A  DM  IRE,  267 

his  determination  to  quit  Naples,  and  fainted  on  the  neck  of 
her  mamma  :  Captain  Macdragon,  of  Macdragonstown,  county 
Tipperary,  called  upon  him  to  "  explene  his  intintions  with  re- 
spect to  his  sisther,  Miss  Amalia  Macdragon,  of  Macdragons- 
town," and  proposed  to  shoot  him  unless  he  married  that  spot- 
less and  beautiful  young  creature,  who  was  afterwards  led  to 
the  altar  by  Mr,  Muff,  at  Cheltenham.  If  perseverance  and 
forty  thousand  pounds  down  could  have  tempted  him,  Miss 
Lydia  Croesus  would  certainly  have  been  Lady  Buckram. 
Count  Towrowski  was  glad  to  take  her  with  half  the  money,  as 
all  the  genteel  world  knows. 

And  now,  perhaps,  the  reader  is  anxious  to  know  what  sort 
of  a  man  this  is  who  wounded  so  many  ladies'  hearts,  and  who 
has  been  such  a  prodigious  favorite  with  men.  If  we  were  to 
describe  him  it  would  be  personal.  Besides,  it  really  does  not 
matter  in  the  least  what  sort  of  a  man  he  is,  or  what  his  per- 
sonal qualities  are. 

Suppose  he  is  a  young  nobleman  of  a  literary  turn,  and  that 
lie  published  poems  ever  so  foolish  and  feeble,  the  Snobs  would 
puTchase  thousands  of  his  volumes  :  the  publishers  (who  re- 
fused my  Passion-Flowers,  and  my  grand  Epic  at  any  price) 
would  give  him  his  own.  Suppose  he  is  a  nobleman  of  a  jovial 
turn,  and  has  a  fancy  for  wrenching  off  knockers,  frequenting 
gin-shops,  and  half  murdering  policemen  :  the  public  will  sym- 
pathize good-naturedly  with  his  amusements,  and  say  he  is  a 
hearty,  honest  fellow.  Suppose  he  is  fond  of  play  and  the 
turf,  and  has  a  fancy  to  be  a  blackleg,  and  occasionally  con- 
descends to  pluck  a  pigeon  at  cards  ;  the  public  will  pardon 
him,  and  many  honest  people  will  court  him,  as  they  would 
court  a  house-breaker  if  he  happened  to  be  a  Lord.  Suppose 
he  is  an  idiot ;  yet,  by  the  glorious  constitution,  he  is  good 
enough  to  govern  us.  Suppose  he  is  an  honest,  high-minded 
gentleman  ;  so  much  the  better  for  himself.  But  he  may  be  an 
ass,  and  yet  respected  ;  or  a  ruffian,  and  be  exceedingly  popu- 
lar ;  or  a  rogue,  and  yet  excuses  will  be  found  for  him.  Snobs 
will  still  worship  him.  Male  Snobs  will  do  him  honor,  and 
females  look  kindly  upon  him,  however  hideous  he  may  be. 


a68  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

ON    SOME    RESPECTABLE   SNOBS. 

Having  received  a  great  deal  of  obloquy  for  dragging  mon- 
Archs,  princes,  and  the  respected  nobility  into  the  Snob  cate- 
gory, I  trust  to  please  everybody  in  the  present  chapter,  by 
stating  my  firm  opinion  that  it  is  among  the  respectable  classes 
of  this  vast  and  happy  empire  that  the  greatest  profusion  of 
Snobs  is  to  be  found.  I  pace  down  my  beloved  Baker  Street, 
(I  am  engaged  on  a  life  of  Baker,  founder  of  this  celebrated 
street,)  I  walk  in  Harley  Street  (where  every  other  house  has  a 
hatchment),  Wimpole  Street,  that  is  as  cheerful  as  the  Cata- 
combs— a  dingy  Mausoleum  of  the  genteel : — I  rove  round 
Regent's  Park,  where  the  plaster  is  patching  ofif  the  house 
walls  ;  where  Methodist  preachers  are  holding  forth  to  three 
little  children  in  the  green  inclosures,  and  puffy  valetudinarians 
are  cantering  in  the  solitary  mud  : — I  thread  the  doubtful  zig- 
zags of  May  Fair,  where  Mrs.  Kitty  Lorimer's  brougham  may 
be  seen  drawn  up  next  door  to  old  Lady  Lollipop's  belozenged 
family  coach  ; — 1  roam  through  Belgravia,  that  pale  and  polite 
district,  where  all  the  inhabitants  look  prim  and  correct,  and 
the  mansions  are  painted  a  faint  whity-brown  :  I  lose  myself  in 
the  new  squares  and  terraces  of  the  brilliant  bran-new  Bays- 
water-and-Tyburn-Junction  line  ;  and  in  one  and  all  of  these 
districts  the  same  truth  comes  across  me.  I  stop  before  any 
house  at  hazard,  and  say,  "  O  house,  you  are  inhabited — O 
knocker,  you  are  knocked  at — O  undressed  flunkey,  sunning 
your  lazy  calves  as  you  lean  against  the  iron  railings,  you  are 
paid — by  Snobs."  It  is  a  tremendous  thought  that ;  and  it  is 
almost  sufficient  to  drive  a  benevolent  mind  to  madness  to  think 
that  perhaps  there  is  not  one  in  ten  of  those  houses  where  the 
"  Peerage  "  does  not  lie  on  the  drawing-room  table.  Consider- 
ing the  harm  that  foolish  lying  book  does,  I  would  have  all  the 
copies  of  it  burned,  as  the  barber  burned  all  Quixote's  books 
of  humbugging  chivalry. 

Look  at  this  grand  house  in  the  middle  of  the  square.  The 
Earl  of  Loughcorrib  lives  there  :  he  has  fifty  thousand  a  year. 
A  dcjeipier  dansant  given  at  his  house  last  week  cost,  who 
knows  how  much  ?  The  mere  flowers  for  the  room  and  bou- 
quets for  the  ladies  cost  four  hundred  pounds.     That  man  in 


ON  SOME  RESPECTABLE  SNOBS. 


569 


drab  trousers,  coming  crying  down  the  steps,  is  a  dun  :  Lord 
Loughcorrib  has  ruined  him,  and  won't  see  him  :  that  is,  his 
lordship  is  peeping  through  the  blind  of  his  study  at  him  now. 
Go  thy  ways,  Loughcorrib,  thou  art  a  Snob,  a  heartless  pre- 
tender, a  hypocrite  of  hospitality  ;  a  rogue  who  passes  forged 
notes  upon  society  ; — but  1  am  growing  too  eloquent. 

You  see  that  fine  house,  No.  23,  where  a  butcher's  boy  is 
ringing  the  area-bell.  He  has  three  mutton-chops  in  his  tray. 
They  are  for  the  dinner  of  a  very  different  and  very  respectable 
family  ;  for  Lady  Susan  Scraper,  and  her  daughters,  Miss 
Scraper  and  Miss  Emily  Scraper.  The  domestics,  luckily  for 
them,  are  on  board  wages — two  huge  footmen  in  light-blue  and 
canary,  a  fat  steady  coachman  who  is  a  Methodist,  and  a  but- 
ler who  would  never  have  stayed  in  the  family  but  that  he  was 
orderly  to  General  Scraper  when  the  General  distinguished 
himself  at  Walcheren.  His  widow  sent  his  portrait  to  the 
United  Service  Club,  and  it  is  hung  up  in  one  of  the  back 
dressing-closets  there.  He  is  represented  at  a  parlor  window 
with  red  curtains  ;  in  the  distance  is  a  whirlwind,  in  which 
cannon  are  firing  off ;  and  he  is  pointing  to  a  chart,  on  which 
are  written  the  words  "  Walcheren,  Tobago." 

Lady  Susan  is,  as  everybody  knows  by  referring  to  the 
"  British  Bible,"  a  daughter  of  the  great  and  good  Earl  Bagwig 
before  mentioned.  She  thinks,  everything  belonging  to  her  the 
greatest  and  best  in  the  world.  The  first  of  men  naturally  are 
the  Buckrams,  her  own  race  :  then  follow  in  rank  the  Scrapers. 
The  General  was  the  greatest  general  :  his  eldest  son,  Scraper 
Buckram  Scraper,  is  at  present  the  greatest  and  best ;  his 
second  son  the  next  greatest  and  best ;  and  herself  the  paragon 
of  women. 

Indeed,  she  is  a  most  respectable  and  honorable  lady.  She 
goes  to  church  of  course  :  she  would  fancy  the  Church  in  dan- 
ger if  she  did  not.  She  subscribes  to  the  church  and  parish 
charities  \  and  is  a  directress  of  many  meritorious  charitable 
institutions  —  of  Queen  Charlotte's  Lying-in  Hospital,  the 
Washerwomen's  Asylum,  the  British  Drummers'  Daughters' 
Home,  &c.,  &c.     She  is  a  model  of  a  matron. 

The  tradesman  never  lived  who  could  say  that  his  bill  was 
not  paid  on  the  quarter-day.  The  beggars  of  her  neighborhood 
avoid  her  like  a  pestilence ;  for  while  she  walks  out,  protected 
by  John,  that  domestic  has  always  two  or  three  mendicity  tickets 
ready  for  deserving  objects.  Ten  guineas  a  year  will  pay  al] 
her  charities.  There  is  no  respectable  lady  in  all  London  who 
gets  her  name  more  often  printed  for  such  a  sum  of  money. 


ZfO 


THE  BOOK'  OF  SNOBS. 


Those  three  mutton-chops  which  you  see  entering  at  th«^ 
kitchen  door  will  be  served  on  the  family  plate  at  seven  o'clock 
this  evening,  the  huge  footman  being  present,  and  the  butler  in 
black,  and  the  crest  and  coat-of-arms  of  the  Scrapers  blazing 
everywhere.  I  pity  Miss  Emily  Scraper — she  is  still  young — 
young  and  hungry.  Is  it  a  fact  that  she  spends  her  pocket- 
money  in  buns .''  Malicious  tongues  say  so  ;  but  she  has  very 
little  to  spare  for  buns,  the  poor  little  hungry  soul !  For  the 
fact  is,  that  when  the  footmen,  and  the  ladies'-maids,  and  the 
fat  coach-horses,  which  are  jobbed,  and  the  six  dinner-parties 
in  the  season,  and  the  two  great  solemn  evening-parties,  and 
the  rent  of  the  big  house,  and  the  journey  to  an  English  or 
foreign  watering-place  for  the  autumn,  are  paid,  my  lady's 
income  has  dwindled  away  to  a  very  small  sum,  and  she  is  as 
poor  as  you  or  I. 

You  would  not  think  it  when  you  saw  her  big  carriage 
rattling  up  to  the  drawing-room,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
plumes,  lappets,  and  diamonds,  waving  over  her  ladyship's 
sandy  hair  and  majestical  hooked  nose  ; — you  would  not  think 
it  when  you  hear  "  Lady  Susan  Scraper's  carriage  "  bawled  out 
at  midnight  so  as  to  disturb  all  Belgravia : — you  would  not 
think  it  when  she  comes  rustling  into  church,  the  obsequious 
John  behind  with  the  bag  of  Prayer-books.  Is  it  possible,  you 
would  say,  that  so  grand  and  awful  a  personage  as  that  can  be 
hard-up  for  money  ?     Alas  !  so  it  is. 

She  never  heard  such  a  word  as  Snob,  I  will  engage,  in  this 
wicked  and  vulgar  world.  And,  O  stars  and  garters !  how  she 
would  start  if  she  heard  that  she — she,  as  solemn  as  Minerva 
— she,  as  chaste  as  Diana  (without  that  heathen  goddess's 
unladylike  propensity  for  field-sports) — that  she  too  was  a 
Snob  ! 

A  Snob  she  is,  as  long  as  she  sets  that  prodigious  value 
upon  herself,  upon  her  name,  upon  her  outward  appearance, 
and  indulges  in  that  intolerable  pomposity  ;  as  long  as  she  goes 
parading  abroad,  like  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  ;  as  long  as  she 
goes  to  bed — as  I  believe  she  does — with  a  turban  and  a  bird 
of  paradise  in  it,  and  a  court-train  to  her  night-gown  ;  as  long 
as  she  is  so  insufferably  virtuous  and  condescending ;  as 
long  as  she  does  not  cut  at  least  one  of  those  footmen  down 
into  mutton-chops  for  the  benefit  of  the  young  ladies, 

I  had  my  notions  of  her  from  my  old  schoolfellow, — her  son 
Sydney  Scraper — a  Chancery  barrister  without  any  practice— 
the  most  placid,  polite,  and  genteel  of  Snobs,  who  never  ex- 
ceeded his  allowance  of  two  hundred  a  year,  and  who  may  be 


ON  SOME  RESPECTABLE  SNOBS. 


271 


seen  any  evening  at  the  "  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club," 
simpering  over  the  Quarterly  Review,  in  the  blameless  enjoy- 
ment of  his  lialf-pint  of  port. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ON    SOME    RESPECTABLE    SNOBS. 


Look  at  the  next  house  to  Lady  Susan  Scraper's.  The  first 
mansion  with  the  awning  over  the  door  :  that  canopy  will  be 
let  down  this  evening  for  the  comfort  of  the  friends  of  Sir 
Alured  and  Lady  S.  de  Mogyns,  whose  parties  are  so  much 
admired  by  the  public,  and  the  givers  themselves. 

Peach-colored  liveries  laced  with  silver,  and  pea-green  plush 
inexpressibles,  render  the  De  Mogyns'  flunkey-  the  pride  of  the 
ring  when  they  appear  in  Hyde  Park,  where  Lad  de  Mogyns, 
as  she  sits  upon  her  satin  cushions,  with  her  d  varf  spaniel  in 
her  arms,  only  bows  to  the  very  selectest  of  the  genteel.  Times 
are  altered  now  with  Mary  Anne,  or  as  she  calls  herself,  Marian 
de  Mogyns. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  Captain  Flack  of  the  Rathdrum 
Fencibles,  who  crossed  with  his  regiment  over  from  Ireland  to 
Caermarthenshire  ever  so  many  years  ago,  and  defended  Wales 
from  the  Corsican  invader.  The  Rathdrums  were  quartered  at 
Pontydwdlm,  where  Maiiai  wooed  and  won  her  De  Mogyns,  a 
young  banker  in  the  place.  His  attentions  to  Miss  Flack  at  a 
race-ball  were  such  that  her  father  said  De  Mogyns  must  either 
die  on  the  field  of  honor,  or  become  his  son-in-law.  He  pre- 
ferred marriage.  His  name  was  Muggins  then,  and  his  father 
— a  flourishing  banker,  army-contractor,  smuggler,  and  general 
jobber — almost  disinherited  him  on  account  of  this  connection. 
There  is  a  story  that  Muggins  the  Eider  was  made  a  baronet 
for  having  lent  money  to  a  R-y-1  p-rs-n-ge.  I  do  not  believe  it. 
The  R-y-1  Family  always  paid  their  debts,  from  the  Prince  of 
Wales  downwards. 

Howbeit,  to  his  life's  end  he  remained  simple  Sir  Thomas 
Muggins,  representing  Pontydwdlm  in  Parliament  for  many 
years  after  the  war.  The  old  banker  died  in  course  of  time, 
and  to  use  the  affectionate  phrase  common  on  such  occasions, 
"cut  up"  prodigiously  well.  His  son,  Alfred  Smith  Mogyns, 
succeeded  to  the  main  portion  of  his  wealth,  and  to  his  titles 


272 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


and  the  bloody  hand  of  his  scutcheon.  It  was  not  for  many 
years  after  that  he  appeared  as  Sir  Alured  Mogyns  Smyth  de 
Mogyns,  with  a  genealogy  found  out  for  him  by  the  Editor  of 
"Fluke's  Peerage,"  and  which  appears  as  follows  in  that 
work . — 

"  De  Mogyns.— Sir  Alured  Mogyns  Smyth,  2nd  Baronet.  This  gentleman  is  a  repre- 
sentative of  one  of  the  most  ancient  families  of  Wales,  who  trace  their  descent  until  it  is  lost 
in  the  mists  of  antiquity.  A  genealogical  tree  beginning  with  Shem  is  in  the  possession  of 
the  family,  and  is  stated  by  a  legend  of  many  thousand  years'  date  to  have  been  drawn  on 
papyrus  by  a  grandson  of  the  patriarch  himself.  Be  this  as  it  may,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
of  the  immense  antiquity  of  the  race  of  Mogyns. 

"In  the  time  of  Boadicea,  Hogyn  Mogyn,  of  the  hundred  Beeves,  was  a  suitor  and  a 
rival  of  Caractacus  for  the  hand  of  that  Princess.  He  was  a  person  gigantic  in  stature,  and 
was  slain  by  Suetonius  in  the  battle  which  terminated  the  liberties  of  Britain.  From  him 
descended  directly  the  Princes  of  Pontydwdlm,  Mogyn  of  the  Golden  Harp,  (see  the 
Mabinogion  of  Lady  Charlotte  Guest,)  Bogyn-Merodac-cap-Mogyn,  (the  black  fiend  son  of 
Mogyn,)  and  a  long  list  of  bards  and  warriors,  celebrated  both  in  Wales  and  Armorica. 
The  independent  Princes  of  Mogyn  long  held  out  against  the  ruthless  Kings  of  England, 
until  finally  Gam  Mogyns  made  his  submission  to  Prince  Henry,  son  of  Heniy  IV.,  and 
under  the  name  of  Sir^David  Gam  de  Mogyns,  was  distinguished  at  the  battle  of  Agincourt. 
From  him  the  jjresent  Baronet  is  descended.  (And  here  the  descent  follows  in  order  until 
it  comes  to)  Thomas  Muggins,  first  Baronet  of  Pontydwdlm  Castle,  for  23  years  Member  of 
Parliament  for  that  borougli,  who  had  issue,  Alured  Mogyns  Smyth,  the  present  Baronet, 
who  married  Marian,  daughter  of  the  late  General  P.  Flack,  of  Ballyflack,  in  the  Kingdom 
of  Ireland,  of  the  Counts  Flack  of  the  H.  R.  Empire.  Sir  Alured  has  issue,  Alured  Cara- 
doc,  born  iSiq,  Marian,  1811,  Blanche  Adeliza,  Emily  Doria,  Adelaide  Obieaus,  Katinka 
Rostopchin,  Patrick  Flack,  died  1809. 

"  Arms — a  mullion  garbled,  gules  on  a  saltire  reversed  of  the  second.  Crest — a  tom-tlt 
rampant  regardant.     Motto — Ung  Roy  tmg  Mogyns.''^ 

It  was  long  before  Lady  de  Mogyns  shone  as  a  star  in  the 
fashionable  world.  At  first,  poor  Muggins  was  in  the  hands  of 
the  Flacks,  the  Clancys,  the  Tooles,  the  Shaiiahans,  his  wife's 
Irish  relations  ;  and  whilst  he  was  yet  but  heir-apparent,  his 
house  overflowed  with  claret  and  the  national  nectar,  for  the 
benefit  of  his  Hibernian  relatives.  Tom  Tufto  absolutely  left 
the  street  in  which  they  lived  in  London,  because  he  said  "it 
was  infected  with  such  a  confounded  smell  of  whiskey  from  the 
house  of  those  Iwish  people." 

It  was  abroad  that  they  learned  to  be  genteel.  They 
pushed  into  all  foreign  courts,  and  elbowed  their  way  into  the 
halls  of  Ambassadors.  They  pounced  upon  the  stray  nobility, 
and  seized  young  lords  travelling  with  their  bear-leaders. 
They  gave  parties  at  Naples,  Rome,  and  Paris.  They  got  a 
Royal  Prince  to  attend  their  soirees  at  the  latter  place,  and  it 
was  here  that  they  first  appeared  under  the  name  of  De 
Mogyns,  which  they  bear  with  such  splendor  to  this  day. 

All  sorts  of  stories  are  told  of  the  desperate  efforts  made 
by  the  indomitable  Lady  de  Mogyns  to  gain  the  place  she  now 
occupies,  and  those  of  my  beloved  readers  who  live  in  middle 
life,  and  are  unacquainted  with  the  frantic  struggles,  the  wicked 
feuds,  the  intrigues,  cabals,   and  disappointments  which,  as  J 


ON  SOME  RESPECTABLE  SNOBS. 


273 


am  given  to  understand,  reign  in  tlie  fashionable  world,  may 
bless  tlieir  stars  tliat  they  at  least  are  not  fashionable  Snobs. 
The  intrigues  set  afoot  by  the  De  Mogyns  to  get  the  Duchess 
of  Buckskin  to  her  parties,  would  strike  a  Talleyrand  with  ad- 
miration. She  had  a  brain  fever  after  being  disappointed  of 
an  invitation  to  Lady  Aldermanbury's  i/ie  dansant^  and  would 
have  committed  suicide  but  for  a  ball  at  Windsor.  I  have  the 
following  story  from  my  noble  friend  Lady  Clapperclaw  herself, 
— Lady  Kathleen  O'Shaughnessy  that  was,  and  daughter  of  the 
Earl  of  Turfanthunder : — 

"  When  that  ojous  disguised  Irishwoman,  Lady  Muggins, 
was  struggling  to  take  her  place  in  the  world,  and  was  bringing 
out  her  hidjous  daughter  Blanche,"  said  old  Lady  Clapperclaw 
— "  Marian  has  a  hump-back  and  doesn't  show,  but  she's  the 
only  lady  in  the  family — when  that  wretched  Polly  Muggins 
was  bringing  out  Blanche,  with  her  radish  of  a  nose,  and  her 
carrots  of  ringlets,  and  her  turnip  for  a  face,  she  was  most 
anxious — as  her  father  had  been  a  cow-boy  on  my  father's  land 
— to  be  patronized  by  us,  and  asked  me  point-blank,  in  the 
midst  of  a  silence  at  Count  Volauvent's,  the  French  Ambassa- 
dor's dinner,  why  I  had  not  sent  her  a  card  for  my  ball  ? 

"  '  Because  my  rooms  are  already  too  full,  and  your  ladyship 
would  be  crowded  inconveniently,'  says  I ;  indeed  she  takes  up 
as  much  room  as  an  elephant  :  besides  I  wouldn't  have  her, 
and  that  was  flat. 

"  I  thought  my  answer  was  a  settler  to  her  :  but  the  next  day 
she  comes  weeping  to  my  arms — '  Dear  Lady  Clapperclaw,' 
says  she,  '  it's  not  for  ine ;  I  ask  it  for  my  blessed  Blanche  !  a 
young  creature  in  her  first  season,  and  not  at  your  ball !  My  ten- 
der child  will  pine  and  die  of  vexation.  /  don't  want  to  come, 
/will  stay  at  home  to  nurse  Sir  Alured  in  the  gout.  Mrs, 
Bolster  is  going,  I  know ;  she  will  be  Blanche's  chaperon.' 

"  '  You  wouldn't  subscribe  for  the  Rathdrum  blanket  and 
potato  fund;  you,  who  come  out  of  the  parish,'  says  I,  'and 
whose  grandfather,  honest  man,  kept  cows  there.' 

"  Will  twenty  guineas  be  enough,  dearest  Lady  Clapper- 
claw ?  " 

"  '  Twenty  guineas  is  sufficient,'  says  I,  and  she  paid  them  ; 
so  I  said,  '  Blanche  may  come,  but  not  you,  mind  : '  and  she 
left  me  with  a  world  of  thanks. 

"  Would  you  believe  it  ? — when  my  ball  came,  the  horrid 
woman  made  her  appearance  with  her  daughter  !  '  Didn't  I  tell 
you  not  to  come?'  said  I,  in  a  mighty  passion.  'What  would 
the  world  have  said  ? '  cries  my  Lady  Muggins  :  my  carriage  is 


274 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


gone  for  Sir  Alured  to  the  Club ;  let  me  stay  only  ten  minutes, 
dearest  Lady  Clapperclaw.' 

'  "  '  Well,  as  you  are  here,  madam,  you  may  stay  and  get 
your  supper,'  I  answered,  and  so  left  her,  and  never  spoke  a 
word  more  to  her  all  night. 

"  And  now,"  screamed  out  old  Lady  Clapperclaw,  clapping 
her  hands,  and  speaking  with  more  brogue  than  ever,  "  what  do 
you  think,  after  all  my  kindness  to  her,  the  wicked,  vulgar, 
odious,  impudent  upstart  of  a  cow-boy's  granddaughter,  has 
done  ? — she  cut  me  yesterday  in  Hy'  Park,  and  hasn't  sent  me 
a  ticket  for  her  ball  to-night,  though  they  say  Prince  George  is 
to  be  there." 

Yes,  such  is  the  fact.  In  the  race  of  fashion  the  resolute 
and  active  De  Mogyns  has  passed  the  poor  old  Clapperclaw. 
Her  progress  in  gentility  may  be  traced  by  the  sets  of  friends 
whom  she  has  courted,  and  made,  and  cut,  and  left  behind  her. 
She  has  struggled  so  gallantly  for  polite  reputation  that  she 
has  won  it :  pitilessly  kicking  down  the  ladder  as  she  advanced 
degree  by  degree. 

Her  Irish  relations  were  first  sacrificed  ;  she  made  her 
father  dine  in  the  steward's  room,  to  his  perfect  contentment : 
and  would  send  Sir  Alured  thither  likewise,  but  that  he  is  a 
peg  on  which  she  hopes  to  hang  her  future  honors  ;  and  is, 
after  all,  paymaster  of  her  daughter's  fortunes.  He  is  meek 
and  content.  He  has  been  so  long  a  gentleman  that  he  is  used 
to  it,  and  acts  the  part  of  governor  very  well.  In  the  day-time 
he  goes  from  the  "  Union  "  to  "  Arthur's,"  and  from  "  Arthur's  " 
to  the  "  Union."  He  is  a  dead  hand  at  piquet,  and  loses  a 
very  comfortable  maintenance  to  some  young  fellows,  at  whist, 
at  the  "  Travellers'." 

His  son  has  taken  his  father's  seat  in  Parliament,  and  has 
of  course  joined  Young  England.  He  is  the  only  man  in  the 
country  who  believes  in  the  De  Mogynses,  and  sighs  for  the 
days  when  a  De  Mogyns  led  the  van  of  battle.  He  has  written 
a  little  volume  of  spoony  puny  poems.  He  wears  a  lock  of  the 
hair  of  Laud,  the  Confessor  and  Martyr,  and  fainted  when  he 
kissed  the  Pope's  toe  at  Rome.  He  sleeps  in  white  kid-gloves, 
and  commits  dangerous  excesses  upon  green  tea. 


GREA  T  CITY  SA'OBS.  275 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

GREAT     CITY     SNOBS. 

There  is  no  disguising  the  fact  tliat  this  series  of  papers  is 
making  a  prodigious  sensation  among  all  classes  in  this  Empire, 
Notes  of  admiration  (!),  of  interrogation  (?),  of  remonstrance, 
approval,  or  abuse,  come  pouring  into  Mr.  Punch'' s  box.  We 
have  been  called  to  task  for  betraying  the  secrets  of  three  dif- 
ferent families  of  De  Mogyns  ;  no  less  than  four  Lady  Susan 
Scrapers  have  been  discovered ;  and  young  gentlemen  are 
quite  shy  of  ordering  half  a  pint  of  port  and  simpering  over  the 
Quarterly  Review  at  the  Club,  lest  they  should  be  mistaken  for 
Sydn  :y  Scraper,  Esq.  "  What  can  be  your  antipathy  to  Baker 
Street  ?  "  asks  some  fair  remonstrant,  evidently  writing  from 
that  quarter. 

"  Why  only  attack  the  aristocratic  Snobs  ?  "  says  one  esti- 
mable correspondent :  "  are  not  the  snobbish  Snobs  to  have 
their  turn  ?  ' — "  Pitch  into  the  University  Snobs !  "  writes  an  in- 
dignant gentleman  (who  spells  elegant  with  two  /'s). — "  Show 
up  the  Clerical  Snobs,"  suggests  another. — "  Being  at  '  Meu- 
rice's  Hotel,'  Paris,  some  time  since,"  some  wag  hints,  "I  saw 
Lord  B.  leaning  out  of  the  window  with  his  boots  in  his  hand, 
and  bawling  out,  '  Garfon,  cirez-moi  ces  botfes.'  Oughtn't  he  to 
be  brought  in  among  the  Snobs  ?  " 

No  ;  far  from  it.  If  his  lordship's  boots  are  dirty,  it  is  be- 
cause he  is  Lord  B.,  and  walks.  There  is  nothing  snobbish  in 
having  only  one  pair  of  boots,  or  a  favorite  pair ;  and  certainly 
nothing  snobbish  in  desiring  to  have  them  cleaned.  Lord  B., 
in  so  doing,  performed  a  perfectly  natural  and  gentlemanlike 
action  ;  for  which  I  am  so  pleased  with  him  that  I  have  had  him 
designed  in  a  favorable  and  elegant  attitude,  and  put  at  the 
head  of  this  Chapter  in  the  place  of  honor.  No,  we  are  not 
personal  in  these  candid  remarks.  As  Phidias  took  the  pick 
of  a  score  of  beauties  before  he  completed  a  Venus,  so  have  we 
to  examine,  perhaps,  a  thousand  Snobs,  before  one  is  expressed 
upon  paper. 

Great  City  Snobs  are  the  next  in  the  hierarchy,  and  ought 
to  be  considered.  But  here  is  a  difficulty.  The  great  City 
Snob  is  commonly  most  difficult  of  access.  Unless  you  are  a 
capitalist,  you  cannot  visit  him  in  the  recesses  of  his  bank  par- 


276 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


lor  in  Lombard  Street.  Unless  you  are  a  sprig  of  nobility 
there  is  little  hope  of  seeing  him  at  home.  In  a  great  City 
Snob  firm  there  is  generally  one  partner  whose  name  is  down 
for  charities,  and  who  frequents  Exeter  Hall ;  you  may  catch  a 
glimpse  of  another  (a  scientific  City  Snob)  at  my  Lord  N — 's 
soirees,  or  the  lectures  of  the  London  Institution  ;  of  a  third  (a 
City  Snob  of  taste)  at  picture-auctions,  at  private  views  of 
exhibitions,  or  at  the  Opera  or  the  Philharmonic.  But  intimacy 
is  impossible,  in  most  cases,  with  this  grave,  pompous,  and 
awful  being. 

A  mere  gentleman  may  hope  to  sit  at  almost  anybody's 
table — to  take  his  place  at  my  lord  duke's  in  the  country — to 
dance  a  quadrille  at  Buckingham  Palace  itself — (beloved  Lady 
Wilhelmina  Waggle-wiggle  !  do  you  recollect  the  sensation  we 
made  at  the  ball  of  our  late  adored  Sovereign  Queen  Caroline, 
at  Brandenburg  House,  Hammersmith .?)  but  the  City  Snob's 
doors  are,  for  the  most  part,  closed  to  him  ;  and  hence  all  that 
one  knows  of  this  great  class  is  mostly  from  hearsay. 

In  other  countries  of  Europe,  the  Banking  Snob  is  more 
expansive  and  communicative  than  with  us,  and  receives  all  the 
world  into  his  circle.  For  instance,  everybody  knows  the 
princely  hospitalities  of  the  Scharlaschild  family  at  Paris,  Na- 
ples, Frankfort,  (S:c,  They  entertain  all  the  world,  even  the 
poor,  at  \\\€\x  fetes.  Prince  Polonia,  at  Rome,  and  his  brother, 
the  Duke  of  Strachino,  are  also  remarkable  for  their  hospitali- 
ties. I  like  the  spirit  of  the  first-named  nobleman.  Titles 
not  costing  much  in  the  Roman  territory,  he  has  had  the 
head  clerk  of  the  banking-house  made  a  Marquis,  and  his 
Lordship  will  screw  a  hajocco  out  of  you  in  exchange  as  dexter- 
ously as  any  commoner  could  do.  It  is  a  comfort  to  be  able 
to  gratify  such  grandees  with  a  farthing  or  two  ;  it  makes  the 
poorest  man  feel  that  he  can  do  good.  The  Polonias  have  in- 
termarried with  the  greatest  and  most  ancient  families  of  Rome, 
and  you  see  their  heraldic  cognizance  (a  mushroom  or  on  an 
azure  field)  quartered  in  a  hundred  places  in  the  City,  with  the 
arms  of  the  Colonnas  and  Dorias. 

Our  City  Snobs  have  the  same  mania  for  aristocratic  mar- 
riages. I  like  to  see  such.  I  am  of  a  savage  and  envious  nature, 
— I  like  to  see  these  two  humbugs  which,  dividing,  as  they  do, 
the  social  empire  of  this  kingdom  between  them,  hate  each 
other  naturally,  making  truce  and  uniting,  for  the  sordid  inter- 
ests of  either.  I  like  to  see  an  old  aristocrat,  swelling  with 
pride  of  race,  the  descendant  of  illustrious  Norman  robbers, 
whose  blood  has  been  pure  for  centuries,  and  who  looks  down 


GREA  T  CTTY  SNOBS.  277 

upon  common  Englishmen  as  a  free-born  American  does  on  a 
nigger, — 1  like  to  see  old  Stiffneck  obliged  to  bow  down  his 
head  and  swallow  his  infernal  pride,  and  drink  the  cup  of 
humiliation  poured  out  by  Pump  and  Aldgatt's  butler.  "  Pump 
and  Aldgate,"  says  he,  "  your  grandfather  was  a  bricklayer, 
and  his  hod  is  still  kept  in  the  bank.  Your  pedigree  begins  in 
a  workhouse;  mine  can  be  dated  from  all  the  royal  palaces  of 
Europe.  I  came  over  with  the  Conqueror  ;  I  am  ov.n  cousin 
to  Charles  Martel,  Orlando  Furioso,  Philip  Augustus,  Peter  the 
Cruel,  and  Frederick  Barbarossa.  I  quarter  the  Royal  Arms 
of  Brentford  in  my  coat.  I  despise  you,  but  I  want  money  ; 
and  I  will  sell  you  my  beloved  daughter,  Blanche  Stiffneck, 
for  a  hundred  thousand  pounds,  to  pay  off  my  mortgages.  Let 
your  son  marry  her,  and  she  shall  become  Lady  Blanche  Pump 
and  Aldgate." 

Old  Pump  and  Aldgate  clutches  at  the  bargain.  And  a  com- 
fortable thing  it  is  to  think  that  birth  can  be  bought  for  money. 
So  you  learn  to  value  it.  Why  should  we,  who  don't  possess  it, 
set  a  higher  store  on  it  than  those  who  do  ?  Perhaps  the  best 
use  of  that  book,  the  "Peerage,"  is  to  look  down  the  list,  and 
see  how  many  have  bought  and  sold  birth, — how  poor  sprigs 
of  nobility  somehow  sell  themselves  to  rich  City  Snobs'  daugh- 
ters, how  rich  City  Snobs  purchase  noble  ladies — and  so  to 
admire  the  double  baseness  of  the  bargain. 

Old  Pump  and  Aldgate  buys  the  article  and  pays  the 
money.  The  sale  of  the  girl's  person  is  blessed  by  a  Bishop 
at  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square,  and  next  year  you  read,  "At 
Roehampton,  on  Saturday,  the  Lady  Blanche  Pump,  of  a  son 
and  heir." 

After  this  interesting  event,  some  old  acquaintance,  who 
saw  young  Pump  in  the  parlor  at  the  bank  in  the  City,  said  to 
him,  familiarly,    "  How's  your  wife.  Pump,  my  boy  ?  " 

Mr.  Pump  looked  exceedingly  puzzled  and  disgusted,  and, 
after  a  pause,  said,  "  Lady  Blanche  Pump  is  pretty  well,  I  thank 
you." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  she  luas  your  wife  l''  said  the  familiar  brute, 
Snooks,  wishing  him  good-by ;  and  ten  minutes  after,  the  story 
was  all  over  the  Stock  Exchange,  where  it  is  told,  when  young 
Pump  appears,  to  this  very  day. 

We  can  imagine  the  weary  life  this  poor  Pump,  this  martyr 
to  Mammon,  is  compelled  to  undergo.  Fancy  the  domestic 
enjoyments  of  a  man  who  has  a  wife  who  scorns  him  ;  who 
cannot  see  his  own  friends  in  his  own  house  ;  who  having  de* 
serted  the  middle  rank  of  life,  is  not  yet  admitted  to  the  higher; 


278  TITE  BOOK-  OF  SNOBS. 

but  who  is  resigned  to  rebuffs  and  delay  and  humiliation,  con- 
tented  to  think  that  his  son  will  be  more  fortunate. 

It  used  to  be  the  custom  of  some  veiy  old-fashioned  clubs 
in  this  City,  when  a  gentleman  asked  for  change  for  a  guinea, 
always  to  bring  it  to  him  in  washed  silver:  that  which  had 
passed  immediately  out  of  the  hands  of  the  vulgar  being  con- 
sidered "as  too  coarse  to  soil  a  gentleman's  fingers."  So, 
when  the  City  Snob's  money  has  been  washed  during  a  genera- 
tion or  so  ;  has  been  washed  into  estates,  and  woods,  and 
castles,  and  town  mansions,  it  is  allowed  to  pass  current  as  real 
aristocratic  coin.  Old  Pump  sweeps  a  shop,  runs  of  messages, 
becomes  a  confidential  clerk  and  partner.  Pump  the  Second 
becomes  chief  of  the  house,  spins  more  and  more  money,  mar- 
ries his  son  to  an  Earl's  daughter.  Pump  Tertius  goes  on  with 
the  bank  ;  but  his  chief  business  in  life  is  to  become  the  father 
of  Pump  Quartus,  who  comes  out  a  full-blown  aristocrat,  and 
takes  his  seat  as  BaroJi  Pumpington,  and  his  race  rules  heredi- 
tarily over  this  nation  of  Snobs. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ON    SOME    MILITARY    SNOBS. 


As  no  society  in  the  world  is  more  agreeable  than  that  of 
well-bred  and  well-informed  military  gentlemen,  so,  likewise, 
none  is  more  insufferable  than  that  of  Military  Snobs.  They 
are  to  be  found  of  all  grades,  from  the  General  Officer,  whose 
padded  old  breast  twinkles  over  with  a  score  of  stars,  clasps, 
and  decorations,  to  the  budding  cornet,  who  is  shaving  for  a 
beard,  and  has  just  been  appointed  to  the  Saxe-Coburg  Lan- 
cers. 

I  have  always  admired  that  dispensation  of  rank  in  our 
country,  which  sets  up  this  last-named  little  creature  (who  was 
flogged  only  last  week  because  he  could  not  spell)  to  command 
great  whiskered  warriors,  who  have  faced  all  dangers  of  climate 
and  battle  ;  which,  because  he  has  money  to  lodge  at  the 
agent's,  will  place  him  over  the  heads  of  men  who  have  a 
thousand  times  more  experience  and  desert ;  and  which,  in 
the  course  of  time,  will  bring  him  all  the  honors  of  his  pro- 
fession, when  the  veteran  soldier  he  commanded  has  got  no 


ON  SOME  MILITARY  SNOBS. 


279 


Other  reward  for  his  bravery  than  a  berth  in  Chelsea  Hospital, 
and  the  veteran  officer  he  superseded  has  slunk  into  shabby 
retirement,  and  ends  his  disappointed  life  on  a  threadbare  half- 
pay. 

When  I  read  in  the  Gazette  such  announcements  as  '  Lieu- 
tenant and  Captain  Grig,  from  the  Bombardier  Guards,  to  be 
Captain,  vice  Grizzle,  who  retires,"  I  know  what  becomes  of 
the  Peninsular  Grizzle  ;  I  follow  him  in  spirit  to  the  humble 
country  town,  where  he  takes  up  his  quarters,  and  occupies  him- 
self with  the  most  desperate  attempts  to  live  like  a  gentleman, 
on  the  stipend  of  half  a  tailor's  foreman  ;  and  I  picture  to  my- 
self little  Grig  rising  from  rank  to  rank,  skipping  from  one 
regiment  to  another,  with  an  increased  grade  in  each,  avoiding 
disagreeable  foreign  service,  and  ranking  as  a  colonel  at  thirty ; 
— all  because  he  has  money,  and  Lord  Grigsby  is  his  father, 
who  had  the  same  luck  before  him.  Grig  must  blush  at  first 
to  give  his  orders  to  old  men  in  every  way  his  betters.  And 
as  it  is  very  difficult  for  a  spoiled  child  to  escape  being  selfish 
and  arrogant,  so  it  is  a  very  hard  task  indeed  for  this  spoiled 
child  of  fortune  not  to  be  a  Snob. 

It  must  have  often  been  a  matter  of  wonder  to  the  candid 
reader,  that  the  army,  the  most  enormous  job  of  all  our  politi- 
cal institutions,  should  yet  work  so  well  in  the  field  ;  and  we 
must  cheerfully  give  Grig,  and  his  like,  the  credit  for  courage 
which  they  display  whenever  occasion  calls  for  it.  The  Duke's 
dandy  regiments  fought  as  well  as  any  (they  said  better  than  any, 
but  that  is  absurd).  The  great  Duke  himself  was  a  dandy  once, 
and  jobbed  on,  as  Marlborough  did  before  him.  But  this  only 
proves  that  dandies  are  brave  as  well  as  other  Britons — as  all 
Britons.  Let  us  concede  that  the  high-born  Grig  rode  into  the 
entrenchments  at  Sobraon  as  gallantly  as  Corporal  Wallop,  the 
ex-ploughboy. 

The  times  of  war  are  more  favorable  to  him  than  the  periods 
of  peace.  Think  of  Grig's  life  in  the  Bombardier  Guards,  or 
the  Jackboot  Guards ;  his  marches  from  Windsor  to  London, 
from  London  to  Windsor,  from  Knightsbridge  to  Regent's 
Park ;  the  idiotic  services  he  has  to  perform,  which  consist  in 
inspecting  the  pipeclay  of  his  company,  or  the  horses  in  the  stable, 
or  bellowing  out  "  Shoulder  humps  !  Carry  humps  !  "  all  which 
duties  the  very  smallest  intellect  that  ever  belonged  to  mortal 
man  would  suffice  to  comprehend.  The  professional  duties  of  a 
footman  are  quite  as  difficult  and  various'.  The  red-jackets 
who  hold  gentlemen's  horses  in  St.  James's  Street  could  do  the 
work  just  as  well  as  those  vacuous,  good-natured,  gentleman- 


2So  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

like,  rickety  little  lieutenants,  who  may  be  seen  sauntering 
about  Pall  Mall,  in  high-heeled  little  boots,  or  rallying  round 
the  standard  of  their  regiment  in  the  Palace  Court,  at  eleven 
o'clock,  when  the  band  plays.  Did  the  beloved  reader  ever 
see  one  of  the  young  fellows  staggering  under  the  flag,  or,  above 
all,  going  through  the  operation  of  saluting  it  ?  It  is  worth  a 
walk  to  the  Palace  to  witness  that  magnificent  piece  of  tom- 
foolery. 

I  have  had  the  honor  of  meeting  once  or  twice  an  old  gentle- 
man, whom  I  look  upon  to  be  a  specimen  of  army-training,  and 
who  has  served  in  crack  regiments,  or  commanded  them,  all  his 
life.  I  allude  to  Lieutenant-General  the  Honorable  Sir  George 
Granby  Tufto,  K.C.B.,  K.T.S.,  K.H.,  K.S.W.,  &c.,  &c.  His 
manners  are  irreproachable  generally  ;  in  society  he  is  a  perfect 
gentleman,  and  a  most  thorough  Snob. 

A  man  can't  help  being  a  fool,  be  he  ever  so  old,  and  Sir 
George  is  a  greater  ass  at  sixty-eight  than  he  was  when  he  first 
entered  the  army  at  fifteen.  He  distinguished  himself  every- 
where :  his  name  is  mentioned  with  praise  in  a  score  of  Ga- 
zettes :  he  is  the  man,  in  fact,  whose  padded  breast,  twinkling 
over  with  innumerable  decorations,  has  already  been  introduced 
to  the  reader.  It  is  difficult  to  say  what  virtues  this  prosperous 
gentleman  possesses.  He  never  read  a  book  in  his  life,  and, 
with  his  purple,  old  gouty  fingers,  still  writes  a  school-boy  hand. 
He  has  reached  old  age  and  gray  hairs  without  being  the  least 
venerable.  He  dresses  like  an  outrageously  young  man  to  the 
present  moment,  and  laces  and  pads  his  old  carcass  as  if  he 
were  still  handsome  George  Tufto  of  1800.  He  is  selfish,  bru- 
tal, passionate,  and  a  glutton.  It  is  curious  to  mark  him  at 
table,  and  see  him  heaving  in  his  waistband,  his  little  bloodshot 
eyes  gloating  over  his  meal.  He  swears  considerably  in  his 
talk,  and  tells  filthy  garrison  stories  after  dinner.  On  account 
of  his  rank  and  his  services,  people  pay  the  bestarred  and  be- 
titled  old  brute  a  sort  of  reverence  ;  and  he  looks  down  upon 
you  and  me,  and  exhibits  his  contempt  for  us,  with  a  stupid 
and  artless  candor  which  is  quite  amusing  to  watch.  Perhaps, 
had  he  been  bred  to  another  profession,  he  would  not  have 
been  the  disreputable  old  creature  he  now  is.  But  what  other  ? 
He  was  fit  for  none  ;  too  incorrigibly  idle  and  dull  for  any  trade 
but  this,  in  which  he  has  distinguished  himself  publicly  as  g 
good  and  gallant  officer,  and  privately  for  riding  races,  drink- 
ing port,  fighting  duels,  and  seducing  women.  He  believes 
himself  to  be  one  of  the  most  honorable  and  deserving  beings 
in  the  world.     About  Waterloo  Place,  of  afternoons,  you  may 


MI  LIT  A  R  Y  SNOBS.  2  %  I 

see  him  tottering  in  his  varnished  boots,  and  leering  under  the 
bonnets  of  the  women  who  pass  by.  When  he  dies  of  apoplex)-, 
The  Tunes  will  have  a  quarter  of  a  column  about  his  services 
and  battles — four  lines  of  print  will  be  wanted  to  describe  his 
titles  and  orders  alone — and  the  earth  will  cover  one  of  the 
wickedest  and  dullest  old  wretches  that  ever  strutted  over  it. 

Lest  it  should  be  imagined  that  I  am  of  so  obstinate  a 
misanthropic  nature  as  to  be  satisfied  with  nothing,  I  beg  (for 
the  comfort  of  the  forces)  to  state  my  belief  that  the  army  is 
not  composed  of  such  persons  as  the  above.  He  has  only 
been  selected  for  the  study  of  civilians  and  the  military,  as 
a  specimen  of  a  prosperous  and  bloated  army  Snob.  No  : 
when  epaulets  are  not  sold  ;  when  corporal  punishments  are 
abolished,  and  Corporal  Smith  has  a  chance  to  have  his  gal- 
lantry rewarded  as  well  as  that  of  Lieutenant  Grig;  when  there 
is  no  such  rank  as  ensign  and  lieutenant  (the  existence  of  which 
rank  is  an  absurd  anomaly,  and  an  insult  upon  all  the  rest  of 
the  army),  and  should  there  be  no  war,  I  should  not  be  dis- 
inclined to  be  a  major-general  myself. 

I  have  a  little  sheaf  of  Army  Snobs  in  my  portfolio,  but  shall 
pause  in  my  attack  upon  the  forces  till  next  week. 


CHAPTE]^   X. 

MILITARY      S  N  O  B  .S. 


Walking  in  the  Park  yesterday  with  my  young  friend  Tagg, 
and  discoursing  with  him  upon  the  next  number  of  the  Snob, 
at  the  very  nick  of  time  who  should  pass  us  but  two  very  good 
specimens  of  Military  Snobs,  —  the  Sporting  Military  Snob, 
Capt.  Rag,  and  the  "  larking  "  or  raffish  Military  Snob,  Ensign 
Famish.  Indeed  you  are  fully  sure  to  meet  them  lounging  on 
horseback  about  five  o'clock,  under  the  trees  by  tlie  Ser- 
pentine, examining  critically  the  inmates  of  the  flashy  brough- 
ams which  parade  up  and  down  "  the  Lady's  Mile." 

Tagg  and  Rag  are  very  well  acquainted,  and  so  the  former, 
with  that  candor  inseparable  from  intimate  friendship,  told  me 
his  dear  friend's  history.  Captain  Rag  is  a  small  dapper  north- 
country  man.  He  went  when  quite  a  boy  into  a  crack  light 
cavalry  regiment,  and  by  the  time  he  got  his  troop,  had  cheated 
aU  his  brother  officers  so  completely,  selling  them  lame  horses 


282  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

for  sound  ones,  and  winning  their  money  by  all  manner  of 
strange  and  ingenious  contrivances,  that  his  Colonel  advised 
him  to  retire ;  which  he  did  without  much  reluctance,  accom- 
modating a  youngster,  who  had  just  entered  the  regiment,  with 
a  glandered  charger  at  an  uncommonly  stiff  figure. 

He  has  since  devoted  his  time  to  billiards,  steeple-chasing, 
and  the  turf.  His  head-quarters  are  "  Rummer's,"  in  Conduit 
Street,  where  he  keeps  his  kit ;  but  he  is  ever  on  the  move  in 
the  exercise  of  his  vocation  as  a  gentleman-jockey  and  gentle- 
man-leg. 

According  to  Bell's  Life,  he  is  an  invariable  attendant  at  all 
races,  and  an  actor  in  most  of  them.  He  rode  the  winner  at 
Leamington  ;  he  was  left  for  dead  in  a  ditch  a  fortnight  ago 
at  Harrow  ;  and  yet  there  he  was,  last  week,  at  the  Croix  de 
Berny,  pale  and  determined  as  ever,  astonishing  the  hadauds 
of  Paris  by  the  elegance  of  his  seat  and  the  neatness  of  his  rig, 
as  he  took  a  preliminary  gallop  on  that  vicious  brute  "  The 
Disowned,"  before  starting  for  "  the  French  Grand  National." 

He  is  a  regular  attendant  at  the  Corner,  where  he  compiles 
a  limited  but  comfortable  libretto.  During  the  season  he  rides 
often  in  the  Park,  mounted  on  a  clever,  well-bred  pony.  He 
is  to  be  seen  escorting  that  celebrated  horsewoman,  Fanny 
Highflyer,  or  in  confidential  converse  with  Lord  Thimblerig, 
the  eminent  handicapper. 

He  carefully  avoids  decent  society,  and  would  rather  dine 
off  a  steak  at  the  "  Old  Tun  "  with  Sam  Snaftie  the  jockey, 
Captain  O'Rourke,  and  two  or  three  other  notorious  turf  rob- 
bers, than  with  the  choicest  company  in  London.  He  likes  to 
announce  at  "  Rummer's  "  that  he  is  going  to  run  down  and 
spend  his  Saturday  and  Sunday  in  a  friendly  way  with  Hocus, 
the  leg,  at  his  little  box  near  Epsom  :  where,  if  report  speak 
true,  many  "  rummish  plants  "  are  concocted. 

He  does  not  play  billiards  often,  and  never  in  public  :  but 
when  he  does  play,  he  always  contrives  to  get  hold  of  a  good 
flat,  and  never  leaves  him  till  he  has  done  him  uncommonly 
brown.     He  has  lately  been  playing  a  good  deal  with  Famish, 

When  he  makes  his  appearance  in  the  drawing-room,  which 
occasionally  happens  at  a  hunt-meeting  or  a  race-ball,  he  enjoys 
himself  extremely. 

His  young  friend  is  Ensign  Famish,  who  is  not  a  little 
pleased  to  be  seen  with  such  a  smart  fellow  as  Rag,  who  bows 
to  the  best  turf  company  in  the  Park.  Rag  lets  Famish  accom- 
pany him  to  Tattersall's,  and  sells  him  bargains  in  horse-flesh, 
and  uses  Famish's  cab.     That  young  gentleman's  regiment  is 


MI  LIT  A  R  Y  SNOBS.  2  83 

in  India,  and  he  is  at  home  on  sick  leave.  He  recruits  his 
health  by  being  intoxicated  every  night,  and  fortifies  his  lungs, 
which  are  weak,  by  smoking  cigars  all  day.  The  policemen 
about  the  Haymarket  know  the  little  creature,  and  the  early 
cabmen  salute  him.  The  closed  doors  of  hsh  and  lobster  shops 
open  after  service,  and  vomit  out  little  Famish,  who  is  either 
tipsy  and  quarrelsome — when  he  wants  to  fight  the  cabmen; 
or  drunk  and  helpless — when  some  kind  friend  (in  yellow  satin) 
takes  care  of  him.  All  the  neighborhood,  the  cabmen,  the 
police,  the  early  potato-men,  and  the  friends  in  yellow  satin, 
know  the  young  fellow,  and  he  is  called  little  Bobby  by  some 
of  the  ver}-  worst  reprobates  in  Europe. 

His  mother,  Lady  Fanny  Famish,  believes  devotedly  that 
Robert  is  in  London  solely  for  the  benefit  of  consulting  the 
physician  ;  is  going  to  have  him  exchanged  into  a  dragoon 
regiment,  which  doesn't  go  to  that  odious  India ;  and  has  an 
idea  that  his  chest  is  delicate,  and  that  he  takes  gruel  every 
evening,  when  he  puts  his  feet  in  hot  water.  Her  Ladyship 
resides  at  Cheltenham,  and  is  of  a  serious  turn. 

Bobby  frequents  the  "  Union-Jack  Club  "  of  course  ;  where 
he  breakfasts  on  pale  ale  and  devilled  kidneys  at  three  o'clock  ; 
where  beardless  young  heroes  of  his  own  sort  congregate,  and 
make  merry,  and  give  each  other  dinners  ;  where  you  may  see 
half  a  dozen  of  young  rakes  of  the  fourth  or  fifth  order  loung- 
ing and  smoking  on  the  steps  ;  where  you  behold  Slapper's  long- 
tailed  leggy  mare  in  the  custody  of  a  red-jacket  until  the  Captain 
is  primed  for  the  Park  with  a  glass  of  curagoa  ;  and  where 
you  see  Hobby  of  the  Highland  Buffs,  driving  up  with  Dobby, 
of  the  Madras  Fusiliers,  in  the  great  banging,  swinging  cab, 
which  the  latter  hires  from  Rumble  of  Bond  Street. 

In  fact,  Military  Snobs  are  of  such  number  and  variety,  that 
a  hundred  weeks  of  Punch  would  not  suffice  to  give  an  audi- 
ence to  them.  There  is,  besides  the  disreputable  old  Military 
Snob,  who  has  seen  service,  the  respectable  old  Military  Snob, 
who  has  seen  none,  and  gives  himself  the  most  prodigious 
Martinet  airs.  There  is  the  Medical-Military  Snob,  who  is 
generally  more  outrageously  military  in  his  conversation  than 
the  greatest  j«^/r//r  in  the  army.  There  is  the  Heavy-Dragoon 
Snob,  whom  young  ladies  admire,  with  his  great  stupid  pink 
face  and  yellow  mustaches — a  vacuous,  solemn,  foolish,  but 
brave  and  honorable  Snob.  There  is  the  Amateur-Military 
Snob,  who  writes  Captain  on  his  card  because  he  is  a  Lieu- 
tenant in  the  Bungay  Militia.  There  is  a  Lady-killing  Military 
Snob ;  and  more,  who  need  not  be  named. 


284  ^-^^  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

But  let  no  man,  we  repeat,  charge  Mr.  Punch  with  disre- 
spect for  the  army  in  general — that  gallant  and  judicious  Army, 
every  man  which,  from  F.  M.  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  &c., 
downwards — (with  the  exception  of  H.  R.  H.  Field-Marshal 
Prince  Albert,  who,  however,  can  hardly  count  as  a  military 
man,) — reads  Punch  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe. 

Let  those  civilians  who  sneer  at  the  acquirements  of  the 
Army  read  Sir  Harry  Smith's  account  of  the  battle  of  Aliwal. 
A  noble  deed  was  never  told  in  nobler  language.  And  you  who 
doubt  if  chivalry  exists,  or  the  age  of  heroism  has  passed  by, 
think  of  Sir  Henry  Hardinge,  with  his  son,  "  Dear  little  Arthur," 
riding  in  front  of  the  lines  at  Ferozeshah.  I  hope  no  English 
painter  will  endeavor  to  illustrate  that  scene  ;  for  who  is  there 
to  do  justice  to  it  ?  The  history  of  the  world  contains  no  more 
brilliant  and  heroic  picture.  No,  no  ;  the  men  who  perform 
these  deeds  with  such  brilliant  valor,  and  describe  them  with 
such  modest  manliness — such  are  not  Snobs.  Their  country 
admires  them,  their  Sovereign  rewards  them,  and  Punch,  the 
universal  railer,  takes  off  his  hat  and  says.  Heaven  save  them  ! 


CHAPTER   XL 

ON      CLERICAL      SNOBS 


After  Snobs-Military,  Snobs-Clerical  suggest  tnemselves 
quite  naturally,  and  it  is  clear  that,  with  every  respect  for  the 
cloth,  yet  having  a  regard  for  truth,  humanity,  and  the  British 
public,  such  a  vast  and  influential  class  must  not  be  omitted 
from  our  notices  of  the  great  Snob  world. 

Of  these  Clerics  there  are  some  whose  claim  to  snobbish- 
ness is  undoubted,  and  yet  it  cannot  be  discussed  here  ;  for  the 
same  reason  that  Punch  would  not  set  up  his  show  in  a  Cathe- 
dral, out  of  respect  for  the  solemn  service  celebrated  within. 
There  are  some  places  where  he  acknowledges  himself  not 
privileged  to  make  a  noise,  and  puts  away  his  show,  and 
silences  his  drum,  and  takes  off  his  hat,  and  holds  his  peace. 

And  I  know  this,  that  if  there  are  some  Clerics  who  do 
wrong,  there  are  straightway  a  thousand  newspapers  to  haul  up 
those  unfortunates,  and  cry,  "  Fie  upon  them,  fie  upon  them  !  " 
while,  though  the  press  is  always  ready  to  yell  and  bellow  exconv 


ON  CLERICAL  SNOBS.  285 

munication  againi.t  these  stray  delinquent  parsons,  it  somehow 
takes  very  little  count  of  the  many  good  ones — of  the  tens  of 
thousands  of  honest  men,  who  lead  Christian  lives,  who  give  to 
the  poor  generously,  who  deny  themselves  rigidly,  and  live  and 
die  in  their  duty,  without  ever  a  newsjDaper  paragraph  in  their 
favor.  My  beloved  friend  and  reader,  I  wish  you  and  I  could 
do  the  same  :  and  let  me  whisper  my  belief,  ent7'e  ?ious,  that  of 
those  eminent  philosophers  who  cry  out  against  parsons  the 
loudest,  there  are  not  many  who  have  not  their  knowledge  of 
the  church  by  going  thither  often. 

But  you  who  have  ever  listened  to  village  bells,  or  have 
walked  to  church  as  children  on  sunny  Sabbath  mornings  ;  you 
who  have  ever  seen  the  parson's  wife  tending  the  poor  man's 
bedside  ;  or  the  town  clergyman  threading  the  dirty  stairs  of 
noxious  alleys  upon  his  sacred  business  ;  do  not  raise  a  shout 
when  one  of  these  falls  away,  or  yell  with  the  mob  that  howls 
after  him. 

Eveiy  man  can  do  that.  When  old  Father  Noah  was  over- 
taken in  his  cups,  there  was  only  one  of  his  sons  that  dared  to 
make  merry  at  his  disaster,  and  he  was  not  the  most  virtuous  of 
the  family.  Let  us  too  turn  away  silently,  not  huzza  like  a  par- 
cel of  school-boys,  because  some  big  young  rebel  suddenly 
starts  up  and  whops  the  schoolmaster. 

I  confess,  though,  if  I  had  by  me  the  names  of  those  seven 
or  eight  Irish  bishops,  the  probates  of  whose  wills  were  men- 
tioned in  last  year's  journals,  and  who  died  leaving  behind  them 
some  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  apiece — I  would  like  to 
put  than  up  as  patrons  of  my  Clerical  Snobs,  and  operate  upon 
them  as  successfully  as  I  see  from  the  newspapers  Mr.  Eisen- 
berg.  Chiropodist,  has  lately  done  upon  "  His  Grace  the  Right 
Reverend  Lord  Bishop  of  Tapioca." 

And  I  confess  that  when  those  Right  Reverend  Prelates 
come  up  to  the  gates  of  Paradise  with  their  probates  of  wills  in 
their  hands  I  think  that  their  chance  is  *  *  *  *  But  the 
gates  of  Paradise  is  a  far  way  to  follow  their  Lordships ;  so  let 
us  trip  down  again,  lest  awkward  questions  be  asked  there  about 
our  own  favorite  vices  too. 

And  don't  let  us  give  way  to  the  vulgar  prejudice,  that 
clergymen  are  an  over-paid  and  luxurious  body  of  men.  When 
that  eminent  ascetic,  the  late  Sydney  Smith — (by  the  way,  by 
what  law  of  nature  is  it  that  so  many  Smiths  in  this  world  are 
called  Sydney  Smith  ?) — lauded  the  system  of  great  prizes  in 


2^6  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

the  Church, — without  which  he  said  gentlemen  would  not  be 
induced  to  follow  the  clerical  profession,  he  admitted  most 
pathetically  that  the  clergy  in  general  were  by  no  means  to  be 
envied  for  their  worldly  prosperity.  From  reading  the  works 
of  some  modern  writers  of  repute,  you  would  fancy  that  a  par- 
son's life  was  passed  in  gorging  himself  with  jDlum-pudding  and 
port-wine  ;  and  that  his  Reverence's  fat  chaps  were  always  greasy 
with  the  crackling  of  tithe  pigs.  Caricaturists  delight  to  repre= 
sent  him  so  :  round,  short-necked,  pimple-faced,  apoplectic, 
bursting  out  of  waistcoat,  like  a  black-pudding,  a  shovel-hatted 
fuzz-wigged  Silenus.  Whereas,  if  you  take  the  real  man,  the 
poor  fellow's  flesh-pots  are  very  scantily  furnished  with  meat. 
He  labors  commonly  for  a  wage  that  a  tailor's  foreman  would 
despise  :  he  has,  too,  such  claims  upon  his  dismal  income  as 
most  philosophers  would  rather  grumble  to  meet ;  many  tithes 
are  levied  upon  his  pocket,  let  it  be  remembered,  by  those  who 
grudge  him  his  means  of  livelihood.  He  has  to  dine  with  the 
Squire  :  and  his  wife  must  dress  neatly  ;  and  he  must  "  look 
like  a  gentleman,"  as  they  call  it,  and  bring  up  his  six  great 
hungry  sons  as  such.  Acid  to  this,  if  he  does  his  duty,  he  has 
such  temptations  to  spend  his  money  as  no  mortal  man  could 
withstand.  Yes  ;  you  who  can't  resist  purchasing  a  chest  of 
cigars,  because  they  are  so  good  ;  or  an  ormolu  clock  at  Howell 
and  James's,  because  it  is  such  a  bargain  ;  or  a  box  at  the  Opera, 
because  Lablache  and  Grisi  are  divine  in  the  Puritani ;  fancy 
how  difficult  it  is  for  a  parson  to  resist  spending  a  haL'-crown 
when  John  Breakstone's  family  are  without  a  loaf  ;  or  "  stand- 
ing "  a  bottle  of  port  for  poor  old  Polly  Rabbits,  who  has  her 
thirteenth  child  ;  or  treating  himself  to  a  suit  of  corduroys  for 
little  Bob  Scarecrow,  whose  breeches  are  sadly  out  at  elbows. 
Think  of  these  temptations,  brother  moralists  and  philosoj^hers, 
and  don't  be  too  hard  on  the  parson. 

But  what  is  this  }  Instead  of  "  showing  up  "  the  parsons, 
are  we  indulging  in  maudlin  praises  of  that  monstrous  black- 
coated  race  ?  O  saintly  Francis,  lying  at  rest  under  the  turf  , 
O  Jimmy,  and  Johnny,  and  Willy,  friends  of  my  youth  !  O  noble 
and  dear  old  Elias  !  how  should  he  who  knows  you  not  respect 
you  and  your  calling?  May  this  pen  never  write  a  pennyworth 
again,  if  it  ever  casts  ridicule  upon  either  ! 


OiV  CLERICAL  SNOBS  AND  SNOBBISHNESS.  287 

CHAPTER  XII. 

ON    CLERICAL    SNOBS    AND    SNOBBISHNESS. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Snob,"  an  amiable  young  correspondent  writes, 
who  signs  himself  Snobling,  "  ought  the  clergyman  who,  at  the 
request  of  a  noble  Duke,  lately  interrupted  a  marriage  ceremony 
between  two  persons  perfectly  authorized  to  marry,  to  be  ranked 
or  not  among  the  Clerical  Snobs  ?  " 

This,  my  dear  young  friend,  is  not  a  fair  question.  One  of 
the  illustrated  weekly  papers  has  already  seized  hold  of  the 
clergyman,  and  blackened  him  most  unmercifully,  by  represent- 
ing him  in  his  cassock  performing  the  marriage  service.  Let 
that  be  sufficient  punishment ;  and,  if  you  please,  do  not  press 
the  query. 

It  is  very  likely  that  if  Miss  Smith  had  come  with  a  license 
to  marry  Jones,  the  parson  in  question,  not  seeing  old  Smith 
present,  would  have  sent  off  the  beadle  in  a  cab  to  let  the  old 
gentleman  know  what  was  going  on ;  and  would  have  delayed 
the  service  until  the  arrival  of  Smith  senior.  He  very  likely 
thinks  it  his  duty  to  ask  <?// marriageable  young  ladies,  who  come 
without  their  papa,  why  their  parent  is  absent ;  and,  no  doubt, 
ahvays  sends  off  the  beadle  for  that  missing  governor. 

Or,  it  is  very  possible  that  the  Duke  of  Coeurdelion  was  Mr. 
What-d'ye-cairim's  most  intimate  friend,  and  has  often  said  to 
him,  "  What-d'ye-call'im,  my  boy,  my  daughter  must  never  marry 
the  Capting.  If  ever  they  try  at  your  church,  I  beseech  you, 
considering  the  terms  of  intimacy  on  which  we  are,  to  send  off 
Rattan  in  a  hack-cab  to  fetch  me." 

In  either  of  which  cases,  you  see,  dear  Snobling,  that  though 
the  parson  would  not  have  been  authorized,  yet  he  might  have 
been  excused  for  interfering.  He  has  no  more  right  to  stop  my 
marriage  than  to  stop  my  dinner,  to  both  of  which,  as  a  free-born 
Briton,  I  am  entitled  by  law,  if  I  can  pay  for  them.  But,  con- 
sider pastoral  solicitude,  a  deep  sense  of  the  duties  of  his  office 
and  pardon  this  inconvenient,  but  genuine  zeal. 

But  if  the  clergyman  did  in  the  Duke's  case  what  he  would 
not  do  in  Smith's  ;  if  he  has  no  more  acquaintance  with  the 
Coeurdelion  family  than  I  have  with  the  Royal  and  Serene 
House  of  Saxe-Coburg  Gotha, — then.,  I  confess,  my  dear  Snob- 
ling, your  question  might  elicit  a  disagreeable  reply,  and  one 


288  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

which  I  respectfully  decline  to  give.  I  wonder  what  Sir  George 
Tufto  would  say,  if  a  sentry  left  his  post  because  a  noble  lord 
(not  in  the  least  connected  with  the  service )  begged  the  sentinel 
not  to  do  his  duty  ! 

Alas  !  that  the  beadle  who  canes  little  boys  and  drives  them 
out,  cannot  drive  worldliness  out  too  ;  and  what  is  worldliness 
but  snobbishness  ?  When,  for  instance,  I  read  in  the  news- 
papers that  the  Right  Reverend  the  Lord  Charles  James  ad- 
ministered the  rite  of  confirmation  to  a  party  of  the  juvenile 
nobility  at  the  Chapel  Royal, — as  if  the  Chapel  Royal  were  a 
sort  of  ecclesiastical  Almack's,  and  young  people  were  to  get 
ready  for  the  next  world  in  little  exclusive  genteel  knots  of  the 
aristocracy,  who  were  not  to  be  disturbed  in  their  journey 
thither  by  the  company  of  the  vulgar : — when  I  read  such  a 
paragraph  as  that  (and  one  or  two  such  generally  appear  during 
the  present  fashionable  season),  it  seems  to  me  to  be  the  most 
odious,  mean,  and  disgusting  part  of  that  odious,  mean,  and 
disgusting  publication,  the  Court  Circular ;  and  that  snobbish- 
ness is  therein  carried  to  quite  an  awful  pitch.  What,  gentle- 
men, can't  we  even  in  the  Church  acknowledge  a  republic  ? 
There,  at  least,  the  Heralds'  College  itself  might  allow  that  we 
all  of  us  have  the  same  pedigree,  and  are  direct  descendants  of 
Eve  and  Adam,  whose  inheritance  is  divided  amongst  us. 

I  hereby  call  upon  all  Dukes,  Earls,  Baronets,  and  other 
potentates,  not  to  lend  themselves  to  this  shameful  scandal  and 
error,  and  beseech  all  Bishops  who  read  this  publication  to  take 
the  matter  into  consideration,  and  to  protest  against  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  practice,  and  to  declare,  "We  won't  confirm  or 
christen  Lord  Tomnodd)^,  or  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks,  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  any  other  young  Christian ; "  the  which  declaration  if 
their  Lordships  are  induced  to  make,  a  great  lapis  ojfensioiiis 
will  be  removed,  and  the  Snob  Papers  will  not  have  been 
written  in  vain. 

A  story  is  current  of  a  celebrated  nouveau-riche,  who  having 
had  occasion  to  oblige  that  excellent  prelate  the  Bishop  of 
Bullocksmithy,  asked  his  Lordship,  in  return,  to  confirm  his 
children  privately  in  his  Lordship's  own  chapel ;  which  ceremony 
the  grateful  prelate  accordingly  performed.  Can  satire  go 
farther  than  this  ?  Is  there  even  in  this  most  amusing  of  prints, 
any  more  naive  absurdity  ?  It  is  as  if  a  man  wouldn't  go  to 
heaven  unless  he  went  in  a  special  train,  or  as  if  he  thought 
(as  some  people  think  about  vaccination)  Confirmation  more 
effectual  when  administered  at  first  hand.  When  that  eminent 
person,  the  Begum  Sumroo,  died,  it  is  said  she  left  ten  thou- 


ON  CLERICAL  SNOBS  AND  SNOBBISHNESS.  289 

sand  pounds  to  the  Pope,  and  ten  thousand  to  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury, — so  that  there  should  be  no  mistake, — so  as  to 
make  sure  of  having  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  on  her  side. 
This  is  only  a  little  more  openly  and  undisguisedly  snobbish 
than  the  cases  before  alluded  to.  A  well-bred  Snob  is  just  as 
secretly  proud  of  his  riches  and  honors  as  z. parvenu  Snob  who 
makes  the  most  ludicrous  exhibition  of  them ;  and  a  high-born 
Marchioness  or  Duchess  just  as  vain  of  herself  and  her  dia- 
monds, as  Queen  Quashyboo,  who  sews  a  pair  of  epaulets  on 
to  her  skirt,  and  turns  out  in  state  in  a  cocked  hat  and  feathers. 

It  is  not  out  of  disrespect  to  my  "Peerage,"  which  I  love 
and  honor,  (indeed,  have  I  not  said  before,  that  I  should  be 
ready  to  jump  out  of  my  skin  if  two  Dukes  would  walk  down 
Pall  Mall  with  me  ?) — it  is  not  out  of  disrespect  for  the  individu- 
als, that  I  wish  these  titles  had  never  been  invented  ;  but,  con- 
sider, if  there  were  no  tree,  there  would  be  no  shadow  ;  and  how 
much  more  honest  society  would  be,  and  how  much  more 
serviceable  the  clergy  would  be  (which  is  our  present  considera- 
tion), if  these  temptations  of  rank  and  continual  baits  of  world- 
liness  were  not  in  existence,  and  perpetually  thrown  out  to 
lead  them  astray. 

I  have  seen  many  examples  of  their  falling  away.  When, 
for  instance,  Tom  Sniffle  first  went  into  the  country  as  Curate 
for  Mr.  Fuddleston  (Sir  Huddleston  Fuddleston's  brother), 
who  resided  on  some  other  living,  there  could  not  be  a  more 
kind,  hard-working,  and  excellent  creature  than  Tom.  He  had 
his  aunt  to  live  with  him.  His  conduct  to  his  poor  was  admi- 
rable. He  wrote  annually  reams  of  the  best-intentioned  and 
most  vapid  sermons.  When  Lord  Brandyball's  family  first 
came  down  into  the  country,  and  invited  him  to  dine  at  Brandy- 
ball  Park,  Sniffle  was  so  agitated  that  he  almost  forgot  how  to 
say  grace,  and  upset  a  bowl  of  currant-jelly  sauce  in  Lady 
Fanny  Toffy's  lap. 

What  was  the  consequence  of  his  intimacy  with  that  noble 
family .-'  He  quarrelled  with  his  aunt  for  dining  out  every  night. 
The  wretch  forgot  his  poor  altogether,  and  killed  his  old  nag 
by  always  riding  over  to  Brandyball ;  where  he  revelled  in  the 
maddest  passion  for  Lady  Fanny.  He  ordered  the  neatest  new 
clothes  and  ecclesiastical  waistcoats  from  London  ;  he  appeared 
with  corazza-shirts,  lackered  boots,  and  perfumery ;  he  bought 
a  blood-horse  from  Bob  Tofly  :  was  seen  at  archery  meetings, 
public  breakfasts, — actually  at  cover;  and,  I  blush  to  say,  that 
I  saw  him  in  a  stall  at  the  Opera ;  and  afterwards  riding  by 
Lady   Fanny's   side   in   Rotten  Row.     He  double-barrelled  his 


290 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


name  (as  many  poor  Snobs  do),  and  instead  of  T.  Sniffle,  as 
formerly,  came  out,  in  a  porcelain  card,  as  Rev,  T.  D'Arcy 
Sniffle,  Burlington  Hotel. 

The  end  of  all  this  may  be  imagined  :  when  the  earl  of 
Brandyball  was  made  acquainted  with  the  curate's  love  for 
Lady  Fanny,  he  had  that  fit  of  the  gout  which  so  nearly  carried 
him  off  (to  the  inexpressible  grief  of  his  son,  Lord  Alicompayne), 
and  uttered  that  remarkable  speech  to  Sniffle,  which  disposed 
of  the  claims  of  the  latter : — ''  If  I  didn't  respect  the  Church, 
Sir,"  his  Lordship  said,  "by  Jove,  I'd  kick  you  down  stairs  :  " 
his  Lordship  then  fell  back  into  the  fit  aforesaid  ;  and  Lady 
Fanny,  as  we  all  know,  married  General  Podager. 

As  for  poor  Tom,  he  was  over  head  and  ears  in  debt  as  well 
as  in  love  :  his  creditors  came  down  upon  him.  Mr.  Hemp,  of 
Portugal  Street,  proclaimed  his  name  lately  as  a  reverend  out- 
law ;  and  he  has  been  seen  at  various  foreign  watering-places ; 
sometimes  doing  duty ;  sometimes  "coaching"  a  stray  gentle- 
man's son  at  Carlsruhe  or  Kissingen  ;  sometimes — must  we  say 
it  ? — lurking  about  the  roulette-tables  with  a  tuft  to  his  chin. 

If  temptation  had  not  come  upon  this  unhappy  fellow  in  the 
shape  of  a  Lord  Brandyball,  he  might  still  have  been  following 
his  profession,  humbly  and  worthily.  He  might  have  married 
his  cousin  with  four  thousand  pounds,  the  wine  merchant's 
daughter  (the  old  gentleman  quarrelled  with  his  nephew  for 
not  soliciting  wine  orders  from  Lord  B.  for  him)  :  he  might  have 
had  seven  children,  and  taken  private  pupils,  and  eked  out  his 
income,  and  lived  and  died  a  country  parson. 

Could  he  have  done  better?  You  who  want  to  know  how 
great,  and  good,  and  noble  such  a  character  may  be  read 
Stanley's  "  Life  of  Doctor  Arnold." 


CHAPTER  XIII, 

ON      CLERICAL      SNOBS, 

Among  the  varieties  of  the  Snob  Clerical,  the  University 
Snob  and  the  Scholastic  Snob  ought  never  to  be  forgotten  \ 
they  form  a  very  strong  battalion  in  the  black-coated  army. 

The  wisdom  of  our  ancestors  (which  I  admire  more  and 
more  every  day)  seemed  to  have  determined  that  the  education 
of  youth  was  so  paltry  and  unimjDortant  a  matter,  that  almost 


ON  CLERICAL  SNOBS.  291 

any  man,  armed  with  a  birch  and  a  regulation  cassock  and 
degree,  might  undertake  the  charge  :  and  many  an  honest 
country  gentleman  may  be  found  to  the  present  day,  who  takes 
very  good  care  to  have  a  character  with  his  butler  when  he 
engages  him,  and  will  not  purchase  a  horse  without  the  strongest 
warranty  and  the  closest  inspection  ;  but  sends  off  his  son, 
young  John  Thomas,  to  school  without  asking  any  questions 
about  the  Schoolmaster,  and  places  the  lad  at  Switchester  Col 
lege,  under  Doctor  Block,  because  he  (the  good  old  English 
gentleman)  had  been  at  Switchester,  under  Doctor  Buzwig, 
forty  years  ago. 

We  have  a  love  for  all  the  little  boys  at  school  ;  for  many 
scores  of  thousands  of  them  read  and  love  Pimch : — may  he 
never  write  a  word  that  shall  not  be  honest  and  fit  for  them  to 
read  !  He  will  not  have  his  young  friends  to  be  Snobs  in  the 
future,  or  to  be  bullied  by  Snobs,  or  given  over  to  such  to  be 
educated.  Our  connection  with  the  youth  at  the  Universities 
is  very  close  and  affectionate.  The  candid  undergraduate  is 
our  friend.  The  pompous  old  College  Don  trembles  in  his 
common  room,  lest  we  should  attack  him  and  show  him  up  as 
a  Snob. 

When  railroads  were  threatening  to  invade  the  land  which 
they  have  since  conquered,  it  may  be  recollected  what  a  shriek- 
ing and  outcry  the  authorities  of  Oxford  and  Eton  made,  lest 
the  iron  abominations  should  come  near  those  seats  of  pure 
learning,  and  tempt  the  British  youth  astray.  The  supplica- 
tions were  in  vain ;  the  railroad  is  in  upon  them,  and  the  old- 
world  institutions  are  doomed.  I  felt  charmed  to  read  in  the 
papers  the  other  day  a  most  veracious  puffing  advertisement 
headed,  "  To  College  and  back  for  Five  Shillings."  "  The 
College  Gardens  (it  said)  will  be  thrown  open  on  this  occasion  ; 
the  College  youths  will  perform  a  regatta  ;  the  Chapel  of  King's 
College  will  have  its  celebrated  music  ; " — and  all  for  five  shil- 
lings !  The  Goths  have  got  into  Rome  •  Napoleon  Stephenson 
draws  his  republican  lines  round  the  sacred  old  cities  ;  and  the 
ecclesiastical  big-wigs  who  garrison  them  must  prepare  to  lay 
down  key  and  crozier  before  the  iron  conqueror. 

If  you  consider,  dear  reader,  what  profound  snobbishness 
the  University  System  produced,  you  will  allow  that  it  is  time 
to  attack  some  of  those  feudal  middle-age  superstitions.  If 
you  go  down  for  five  shillings  to  look  at  the  "  College  Youths," 
you  may  see  one  sneaking  down  the  court  without  a  tassel 
to  his  cap  ;  another  with  a  gold  or  silver  fringe  to  his  velvet 
trencher ;  a  third  lad  with  a  master's  gown  and  hat,  walking  at 


>92 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


ease  over  the  sacred  College  grass-plots,  which  common  men 
must  not  tread  on. 

He  may  do  it  because  he  is  a  nobleman.  Because  a  lad  is 
u  lord,  the  University  gives  him  a  degree  at  the  end  of  two 
years  which  another  is  seven  in  acquiring.  Because  he  is  a 
(ord,  he  has  no  call  to  go  through  an  examination.  Any  man 
who  has  not  been  to  College  and  back  for  five  shillings,  would 
not  believe  in  such  distinctions  in  a  place  of  education,  so 
absurd  and  monstrous  do  they  seem  to  be. 

The  lads  with  gold  and  silver  lace  are  sons  of  rich  gentle- 
men, and  called  Fellow  Commoners  ;  they  are  privileged  to 
feed  better  than  the  pensioners,  and  to  have  wine  with  their 
victuals,  which  the  latter  can  only  get  in  their  rooms. 

The  unlucky  boys  who  have  no  tassels  to  their  caps,  are 
called  sizars — servitors  at  Oxford — (a  very  pretty  and  gentle- 
manlike title).  A  distinction  is  made  in  their  clothes  because 
they  are  poor  ;  for  which  reason  they  wear  a  badge  of  poverty, 
and  are  not  allowed  to  take  their  meals  with  their  fellow-stu- 
dents. 

When  this  wicked  and  shameful  distinction  was  set  up,  it 
was  of  a  piece  with  all  the  rest — a  part  of  the  brutal,  unchristian, 
blundering  feudal  system.  Distinctions  of  rank  were  then  so 
strongly  insisted  upon,  that  it  would  have  been  thought  blas- 
phemy to  doubt  them,  as  blasphemous  as  it  is  in  parts  of  the 
United  States  now  for  a  nigger  to  set  up  as  the  equal  of  a  white 
man.  A  rufifian  like  Henry  VHI.  talked  as  gravely  about  the 
divine  powers  vested  in  him,  as  if  he  had  been  an  inspired 
prophet.  A  wretch  like  James  I.  not  only  belie\'ed  that  there 
was  in  himself  a  particular  sanctity,  but  other  people  believed 
him.  Government  regulated  the  length  of  a  merchant's  shoes 
as  well  as  meddled  with  his  trade,  prices,  exports,  machinery. 
It  thought  itself  justified  in  roasting  a  man  for  his  religion,  or 
pulling  a  Jew's  teeth  out  if  he  did  not  pay  a  contribution,  or 
ordered  him  to  dress  in  a  yellow  gabardine,  and  locked  him  in 
a  particular  quarter. 

Now  a  merchant  may  wear  what  boots  he  pleases,  and  has 
pretty  nearly  acquired  the  privilege  of  buying  and  selling  with- 
out the  Government  laying  its  paws  upon  the  bargain.  The 
stake  for  heretics  is  gone  ;  the  pillory  is  taken  down  ;  Bishops 
are  even  found  lifting  up  their  voices  against  the  remains  of 
persecution,  and  ready  to  do  away  with  the  last  Catholic  Dis- 
abilities. Sir  Robert  Peel,  though  he  wished  it  ever  so  much, 
has  no  power  over  Mr.  Benjamin  Disraeli's  grinders,  or  any 
means   of  violently  handling  that  gentleman's   jaw.     Jews  are 


ON  UNIVERSITY  SNOBS.  293 

not  called  upon  to  wear  badges  :  on  the  contrary,  they  may  live 
in  Piccadilly,  or  the  Minories,  according  to  fancy  ;  they  may 
dress  like  Christians,  and  do  sometimes  in  a  most  elegant  and 
fashionable  manner. 

Why  is  the  poor  College  servitor  to  wear  that  name  and 
that  badge  still  ?  Because  Universities  are  the  last  places  into 
which  Reform  penetrates.  But  now  that  she  can  go  to  College 
and  back  for  five  shillings,  let  her  travel  down  thither. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ON    UNIVERSITY    SNOBS. 


All  the  men  of  Saint  Boniface  will  recognize  Hugby  and 
Crump  in  these  two  pictures.  They  were  tutors  in  our  time, 
and  Crump  is  since  advanced  to  be  President  of  the  College. 
He  was  formerly,  and  is  now,  a  rich  specimen  of  a  University 
Snob, 

^  At  five-and-twenty,  Crump  invented  three  new  metres,  and 
published  an  edition  of  an  exceedingly  improper  Greek  Comedy, 
with  no  less  than  twenty  emendations  upon  the  German  text  of 
Schnupfenius  and  Schnapsius.  These  services  to  religion  in- 
stantly pointed  him  out  for  advancement  in  the  Church,  and  he 
is  now  President  of  Saint  Boniface,  and  very  narrowly  escaped 
the  Bench. 

Crump  thinks  Saint  Boniface  the  centre  of  the  world,  and  his 
position  as  President  the  highest  in  England.  He  expects  the 
fellows  and  tutors  to  pay  him  the  same  sort  of  service  that  Car- 
dinals pay  to  the  Pope.  I  am  sure  Crawler  would  have  no  ob- 
iection  to  carry  his  trencher,  or  Page  to  hold  up  the  skirts  of 
his  gown  as  he  stalks  into  chapel.  He  roars  out  the  responses 
there  as  if  it  were  an  honor  to  heaven  that  the  President  of 
Saint  Boniface  should  take  a  part  in  the  service,  and  in  his  own 
lodge  and  college  acknowledges  the  Sovereign  only  as  his 
superior. 

When  the  allied  monarchs  came  down,  and  were  made  Doc- 
tors of  the  University,  a  breakfast  was  given  at  Saint  Boniface  ; 
on  which  occasion  Crump  allowed  the  Emperor  Alexander  to 
walk  before  him,  but  took  \\\^  pas  himself  of  the  King  of  Prus- 
sia and  Prince  Blucher.     He   was  going  to  put  the  Hetman 


294 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Platoff  to  breakfast  at  a  side-table  with  the  under  college  tutors  \ 
but  he  was  induced  to  relent,  and  merely  entertained  that  dis- 
tinguished Cossack  with  a  discourse  on  his  own  language,  in 
which  he  showed  that  the  Hetman  knew  nothing  about  it. 

As  for  us  undergraduates,  we  scarcely  knew  more  about 
Crump  than  about  the  Grand  Llama.  A  few  favored  youths 
are  asked  occasionally  to  tea  at  the  lodge ;  but  they  do  not 
speak  unless  first  addressed  by  the  Doctor  ;  and  if  they  ven- 
ture to  sit  down,  Crump's  follower,  Mr.  Toady,  whispers, 
"Gentlemen,  will  you  have  the  kindness  to  get  up  .'' — The  Pres- 
ident is  passing;"  or  "Gentlemen,  the  President  prefers  that 
undergraduates  should  not  sit  down  ; ''  or  words  to  a  similar 
effect. 

To  do  Crump  justice,  he  does  not  cringe  now  to  great  peo- 
ple. He  rather  patronizes  them  than  otherwise ;  and,  in 
London,  speaks  quite  affably  to  a  Duke  who  has  been  brought 
up  at  his  college,  or  holds  out  a  finger  to  a  Marquis.  He  does 
not  disguise  his  own  origin,  but  brags  of  it  with  considerable 
self-gratulation  : — "  I  was  a  Charity -boy,"  says  he  ;  "  see  what 
I  am  now ;  the  greatest  Greek  scholar  of  the  greatest  Col- 
lege of  the  greatest  Lniiversity  of  the  greatest  Empire  in  the 
world."  The  argument  being,  that  this  is  a  capital  world  for 
beggars,  because  he,  being  a  beggar,  has  managed  to  get  on 
horseback. 

Hugby  owes  his  eminence  to  patient  merit  and  agreeable 
perseverance.  He  is  a  meek,  mild,  inoffensive  creature,  with 
just  enough  of  scholarship  to  fit  him  to  hold  a  lecture,  or  set  an 
examination  paper.  He  rose  by  kindness  to  the  aristocracy. 
It  was  wonderful  to  see  the  way  in  which  that  poor  creature 
grovelled  before  a  nobleman  or  a  lord's  nephew,  or  even  some 
noisy  and  disreputable  commoner,  the  f-riend  of  a  lord.  He 
used  to  give  the  young  noblemen  the  most  painful  and  elaborate 
breakfasts,  and  adopt  a  jaunty  genteel  air,  and  talk  with  them 
(although  he  was  decidedly  serious)  about  the  opera,  or  the  last 
run  with  the  hounds.  It  was  good  to  watch  him  in  the  midst 
of  a  circle  of  young  tufts,  with  his  mean,  smiling,  eager,  uneasy 
familiarity.  He  used  to  write  home  confidential  letters  to  their 
parents,  and  made  it  his  duty  to  call  upon  them  when  in  town, 
to  condole  or  rejoice  with  them  when  a  death,  birth,  or  marriage 
took  place  in  their  family  ;  and  to  feast  them  whenever  they 
came  to  the  University.  I  recollect  a  letter  lying  on  a  desk  in 
his  lecture-room  for  a  whole  term,  beginning,  "  My  Lord 
Duke.''  It  was  to  show  us  that  he  corresponded  with  such 
dignities. 


ON  UNIVERSITY  SNOBS. 


29s 


When  the  late  lamented  Lord  Glenlivat,  who  broke  his  neck 
at  a  hurdle-race,  at  the  premature  age  of  twenty-four,  was  at  the 
University,  the  amiable  young  fellow,  passing  to  his  rooms  in 
the  early  morning,  and  seeing  Hugby's  boots  at  his  door,  on 
the  same  staircase,  playfully  wadded  the  insides  of  the  boots 
with  cobbler's  wax,  which  caused  excruciating  pains  to  the 
Rev.  Mr,  Hugby,  when  he  came  to  take  them  off  the  same 
evening,  before  dining  with  the  master  of  St.  Crispin's. 

Everybody  gave  the  credit  of  this  admirable  piece  of  fun  to 
Lord  Glenlivat's  friend.  Bob  Tizzy,  who  was  famous  for  such 
feats,  and  who  had  already  made  away  with  the  college  pump- 
handle  ;  filed  St.  Boniface's  nose  smooth  with  his  face  ;  carried 
off  four  images  of  nigger-boys  from  the  tobacconists  ;  painted 
the  senior  proctor's  horse  pea-green,  &c.,  &:c. ;  and  Bob  (who 
was  of  the  party  certainly,  and  would  not  peach,)  was  just  on 
the  point  of  incurring  expulsion,  and  so  losing  the  family  living 
which  was  in  store  for  him,  when  Glenlivat  nobly  stepped  for- 
ward, owned  himself  to  be  the  author  of  the  delightful  jeu- 
d'esp?-it,  apologized  to  the  tutor,  and  accepted  the  rustication. 

Hugby  cried  when  Glenlivat  apologized  ;  if  the  young  noble- 
man had  kicked  him  round  the  court,  I  believe  the  tutor  would 
have  been  happy,  so  that  an  apology  and  a  reconciliation  might 
subsequently  ensue.  "  My  lord,"  said  he,  "in  your  conduct  on 
this  and  all  other  occasions,  you  have  acted  as  becomes  a 
gentleman  ;  you  have  been  an  honor  to  the  University,  as  you 
will  be  to  the  peerage,  I  am  sure,  when  the  amiable  vivacity  of 
youth  is  calmed  down,  and  you  are  called  upon  to  take  your 
proper  share  in  the  government  of  the  nation."  And  when  his 
lordship  took  leave  of  the  LTniversity,  Hugby  presented  him 
with  a  copy  of  his  "  Sermons  to  a  Nobleman's  Family  "  (Hugby 
was  once  private  tutor  to  the  sons  of  the  Earl  of  Muffborough), 
which  Glenlivat  presented  in  return  to  Mr.  William  Ramm, 
known  to  the  fancy  as  the  Tutbury  Pet,  and  the  sermons  now 
figure  on  the  boudoir-tabie  of  Mrs.  Ramm,  behind  the  bar  of 
her  house- of  entertainment,  "The  Game  Cock  and  Spurs," 
near  Woodstock,  Oxon. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  long  vacation,  Hugby  comes  to 
town,  and  puts  up  in  handsome  lodgings  near  St.  James's 
Square  ;  rides  in  the  Park  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  is  delighted  to 
read  his  name  in  the  morning  papers  among  the  list  of  persons 
present  at  Muffborough  House,  and  the  Marquis  of  Farintosh's 
evening  parties.  He  is  a  member  of  Sydney  Scraper's  Club, 
where,  however,  he  drinks  his  pint  of  claret. 

Sometimes  you  may  see  him  on  Sundays,  at  the  hour  when 


296  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

tavern  doors  open,  whence  issue  little  girls  with  great  jugs  ot 
porter ;  when  charity-boys  walk  the  streets,  bearing  brown 
dishes  of  smoking  shoulders  of  mutton  and  baked  'taturs ; 
when  Sheeny  and  Moses  are  seen  smoking  their  pipes  before 
their  lazy  shutters  in  Seven  Dials ;  when  a  crowd  of  smiling 
persons  in  clean  outlandish  dresses,  in  monstrous  bonnets  and 
flaring  printed  gowns,  or  in  crumpled  glossy  coats  and  silks 
that  bear  the  creases  of  the  drawers  where  they  have  lain  all 
the  week,  file  down  High  Street, — sometimes,  I  say,  you  may 
see  Hugby  coming  out  of  the  Church  of  St.  Giles-in-the-Fields, 
with  a  stout  gentlewoman  leaning  on  his  arm,  whose  old  face 
bears  an  expression  of  supreme  pride  and  happiness  as  she 
glances  round  at  all  her  neighbors,  and  who  faces  the  curate 
himself,  and  marches  into  Holborn,  where  she  pulls  the  bell  of 
a  house  over  which  is  inscribed,  "  Hugby,  Haberdasher."  It 
is  the  mother  of  the  Rev.  F.  Hugby,  as  proud  of  her  son  in  his 
white  choker  as  Cornelia  of  her  jewels  at  Rome.  That  is  old 
Hugby  ])ringing  up  the  rear  with  the  Prayer-books,  and  Betsy 
Hugby  the  old  maid,  his  daughter, — old  Hugby,  Haberdasher 
and  Churchwarden. 

In  the  front  room  up  stairs,  where  the  dinner  is  laid  out, 
there  is  a  picture  of  Muffborough  Castle  ;  of  the  Earl  of  Muff- 
borough,  K.  X.,  Lord-Lieutenant  for  Diddlesex  ;  an  engraving, 
from  an  almanac,  of  Saint  Boniface  College,  Oxon  ;  and  a  stick- 
ing-plaster portrait  of  Hugby  when  young,  in  a  cap  and  gown. 
A  copy  of  his  "  Sermons  to  a  Nobleman's  Family  "  is  on  the 
book-shelf,  by  the  'Whole  Duty  of  Man,"  the  Reports  of  the 
Missionary  Societies,  and  the  "  Oxford  University  Calendar." 
Old  Hugby  knows  part  of  this  by  heart :  every  living  belonging 
to  Saint  Boniface,  and  the  name  of  every  tutor,  fellow,  noble- 
man, and  undergraduate. 

He  used  to  go  to  meeting  and  preach  himself,  until  his  son 
took  orders  ;  but  of  late  the  old  gentleman  has  been  accused  of 
Puseyism,  and  is  quite  pitiless  against  the  Dissenters. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ON    UNIVERSITY    SNOBS. 


I  SHOITLD  like  to  fill  several  volumes  with  accounts  of 
various  University  Snobs  ;  so  fond  are  my  reminiscences  of 
them,  and  so  numerous  are  they.     I  should  like  to  speak,  above 


ON  UNIVERSITY  SNOBS. 


297 


all,  of  the  wives  and  daughters  of  some  of  the  Professor-Snobs  ; 
their  amusements,  habits,  jealousies  ;  their  innocent  artifices  to 
entrap  young  men  ;  their  pic-nics,  concerts,  and  evening-parties. 
I  wonder  what  has  become  of  Emily  Blades,  daughter  of  Blades, 
the  Professor  of  the  Mandingo  language  ?  I  remember  her 
shoulders  to  this  day,  as  she  sat  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of 
about  seventy  young  gentlemen,  from  Corpus  and  Catherine 
Hall,  entertaining  them  with  ogles  and  French  songs  on  the 
guitar.  Are  you  married,  fair  Emily  of  the  shoulders  ?  What 
beautiful  ringlets  those  were  that  used  to  dribble  over  them  ! — 
what  a  waist ! — what  a  killing  sea-green  shot-silk  gown  ! — what 
a  cameo,  the  size  of  a  muffin !  There  were  thirty-six  young 
men  of  the  University  in  love  at  one  time  with  Emily  Blades  : 
and  no  words  are  sufficient  to  describe  the  pity,  the  sorrow,  the 
deep,  deep  commiseration — the  rage,  fury,  and  uncharitableness, 
in  other  words — with  which  the  Miss  Trumps  (daughter  of 
Trumps,  the  Professor  of  Phlebotomy)  regarded  her,  because 
she  did7i't  squint,  and  because  she  tvasn'f  marked  with  the 
small-iDox. 

As  for  the  young  University  Snobs,  I  am  getting  too  old,  now, 
to  speak  of  such  very  familiarly.  My  recollections  of  them  lie 
in  the  far,  far  past — almost  as  far  back  as  Pelham's  time. 

We  t/icn  used  to  consider  Snobs  raw-looking  lads,  who  never 
missed  chapel ;  who  wore  highlows  and  no  straps  ;  who  walked 
two  hours  on  the  Trumpington  road  every  day  of  their  lives  ; 
who  carried  off  the  college  scholarships,  and  who  overrated 
themselves  in  hall.  We  were  premature  in  pronouncing  our 
verdict  of  youthful  Snobbishness.  The  man  without  straps 
fulfilled  his  destiny  and  duty.  He  eased  his  old  governor,  the 
curate  in  Westmoreland,  or  helped  his  sisters  to  set  up  the 
Ladies'  School.  He  wrote  a  "Dictionary,"  or  a  "Treatise  on 
Conic  Sections,"  as  his  nature  and  genius  prompted.  He  got 
a  fellowship  :  and  then  took  to  himself  a  wife,  and  a  living.  He 
presides  over  a  parish  now,  and  thinks  it  rather  a  dashing  thing 
to  belong  to  the  "Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club;"  and  his  pa- 
rishioners love  him,  and  snore  under  his  sermons.  No,  no,  he 
is  not  a  Snob.  It  is  not  straj^s  that  make  the  gentleman,  or 
highlows  that  unmake  him,  be  they  ever  so  thick.  My  son,  it 
is  you  who  are  the  Snob  if  you  lightly  despise  a  man  for  doing 
his  duty,  and  refuse  to  shake  an  honest  man's  hand  because  it 
wears  a  Berlin  glove. 

We  then  used  to  consider  it  not  the  least  vulgar  for  a  par- 
cel of  lads  who  had  been  whipped  three  months  previous,  and 
were  not  allowed  more   than  three  glasses  of  port  at  home,  to 


298  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

sit  down  to  pine-apples  and  ices  at  eacii  others  rooms,  anf^. 
fuddle  themselves  with  champagne  and  claret. 

One  looks  back  to  what  was  called  "  a  wine-party  "  with  a 
sort  of  wonder.  Thirty  lads  round  a  table  covered  with  bad 
sweetmeats,  drinking  bad  wines,  telling  bad  stories,  singing  bad 
songs  over  and  over  again.  Milk-punch  —  smoking — ghastly 
headache — frightful  spectacle  of  dessert-table  next  morning,  and 
smell  of  tobacco — your  guardian,  the  clergyman,  dropping  in, 
in  the  midst  of  this — expecting  to  find  you  deep  in  Algebra,  and 
discovering  the  Gyp  administering  soda-water. 

There  were  young  men  who  despised  the  lads  who  indulged 
in  the  coarse  hospitalities  of  wine-parties,  who  prided  them- 
selves in  giving  recJiercJie  little  French  dinners.  Both  wine- 
party-givers  and  dinner-givers  were  Snobs. 

There  were  what  used  to  be  called  "dressy  Snobs" — Jimmy, 
who  might  be  seen  at  five  o'clock  elaborately  rigged  out,  with  a 
camellia  in  his  button-hole,  glazed  boots,  and  fresh  kid-gloves 
twice  a  day; — Jessamy,  who  was  conspicuous  for  his  "jewelry," 
— a  young  donkey,  glittering  all  over  with  chains,  rings,  and 
shirt-studs  ; — Jacky,  who  rode  every  day  solemnly  on  the  Blen- 
heim Road,  in  pumps  and  white  silk  stockings,  with  his  hair 
curled, — all  three  of  whom  flattered  themselves  they  gave  laws 
to  the  University  about  dress — all  three  most  odious  varieties 
of  Snobs. 

Sporting  Snobs  of  course  there  were,  and  are  always — those 
happy  beings  in  whom  Nature  has  implanted  a  love  of  slang  : 
who  loitered  about  the  horsekeeper's  stables,  and  drove  the 
London  coaches — a  stage  in  and  out — and  might  be  seen  swag- 
gering through  the  courts  in  pink  of  early  mornings,  and  in- 
dulged in  dice  and  blind-hookey  at  nights,  and  never  missed  a 
race  or  a  boxing-match ;  and  rode  flat-races,  and  kept  bull- 
terriers.  Worse  Snobs  even  than  these  were  poor  miserable 
wretches  who  did  not  like  hunting  at  all,  and  could  not  afford 
it,  and  were  in  mortal  fear  at  a  two-foot  ditch  ;  but  who  hunted 
because  Glenlivat  and  Cinqbars  hunted.  The  Billiard  Snob 
and  the  Boating  Snob  .were  varieties  of  these,  and  are  to  be 
found  elsewhere  than  in  Universities. 

Then  there  were  Philosophical  Snobs,  who  used  to  ape 
statesmen  at  the  spouting-clubs,  and  who  believed  as  a  fact 
that  Government  always  had  an  eye  on  the  University  for  the 
selection  of  orators  for  the  House  of  Commons.  There  were 
audacious  young  free-thinkers,  who  adored  nobody  or  nothing, 
except  perhaps  Robespierre  and  the  Koran,  and  panted  for  the 
day  when  the  pale  name  of  priest  should  shrink  and  dwindle 
away  before  the  indignation  of  an  enlightened  world. 


ON  LITERARY  SNOBS. 


299 


But  the  worst  of  all  University  Snobs  are  those  unfortunates 
who  go  to  rack  and  ruin  from  their  desire  to  ape  their  betters. 
Smith  becomes  acquainted  with  great  people  at  college,  and  is 
ashamed  of  his  father  the  tradesman.  Jones  has  fine  acquaint- 
ances, and  lives  after  their  fashion  like  a  gay  free-hearted 
fellow  as  he  is,  and  ruins  his  father,  and  robs  his  sister's  por- 
tion, and  cripples  his  younger  brother's  outset  in  life,  for  the 
pleasure  of  entertaining  my  lord,  and  riding  by  the  side  of  Sir 
John.  And  though  it  may  be  very  good  fun  for  Robinson  to 
fuddle  himself  at  home  as  he  does  at  College,  and  to  be  brought 
home  by  the  policeman  he  has  just  been  trying  to  knock  down 
— think  what  fun  it  is  for  the  poor  old  soul  his  mother  ! — the 
half-pay  captain's  widow,  who  has  been  pinching  herself  all  her 
life  long,  in  order  that  that  jolly  young  fellow  might  have  a 
University  education. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ON     LITERARY      SNO 


What  will  he  say  about  Literary  Snobs  ?  has  been  a  ques- 
tion, I  make  no  doubt,  often  asked  by  the  public.  How  can 
he  let  off  his  own  profession  ?  Will  that  truculent  and  unspar- 
ing monster  who  attacks  the  nobility,  the  clergy,  the  army,  and 
the  ladies,  indiscriminately,  hesitate  when  the  turn  comes  to 
egorger  his  own  flesh  and  blood  .'' 

My  dear  and  excellent  querist,  whom  does  the  schoolmaster 
flog  so  resolutely  as  his  own  son  ?  Didn't  Brutus  chop  his 
offspring's  head  off  ?  You  have  a  very  bad  opinion  indeed  of 
the  present  state  of  literature  and  of  literary  men,  if  you  fancy 
that  any  one  of  us  would  hesitate  to  stick  a  knife  into  his 
neighbor  penman,  if  the  .latter's  death  could  do  the  State  any 
service. 

But  the  fact  is,  that  in  the  literary  profession  there  are 
NO  Snobs.  Look  round  at  the  whole  body  of  British  men  of 
letters,  and  1  defy  you  to  point  out  among  them  a  single 
instance  of  vulgarity,  or  envy,  or  assumption. 

Men  and  women,  as  far  as  I  have  known  them,  they  are  all 
modest  in  their  demeanor,  elegant  in  their  manners,  spotless 
in  their  lives,  and  honorable  in  their  conduct  to  the  world  and 


300 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


to  each  other.  You  may,  occasionally,  it  is  true,  hear  ons 
literary  man  abusing  his  brother ;  but  why  ?  Not  in  the  least 
out  of  malice  ;  not  at  all  from  envy  ;  merely  from  a  sense  of 
truth  and  public  duty.  Suppose,  for  instance,  I  good-naturedly 
point  out  a  blemish  in  my  friend  Mr,  Punclis  person,  and  say, 
Mr.  F.  has  a  hump-back,  and  his  nose  and  chin  are  more 
crooked  than  those  features  in  the  Apollo  or  Antinous,  which 
we  are  accustomed  to  consider  as  our  standards  of  beauty ; 
does  this  argue  malice  on  my  part  towards  Mr.  Punch  ?  Not 
in  the  least.  It  is  the  critic's  duty  to  point  out  defects  as  well 
as  merits,  and  he  invariably  does  his  duty  with  the  utmost 
gentleness  and  candor. 

An  intelligent  foreigner's  testimony  about  our  manners  is 
always  worth  having,  and  I  think,  in  this  respect,  the  work  of 
an  eminent  American,  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis,  is  eminently  valuable 
and  impartial.  In  his  "  History  of  Ernest  Clay,"  a  crack  mag- 
azine-writer, the  reader  will  get  an  exact  account  of  the  life  of 
a  popular  man  of  letters  in  England.  He  is  always  the  great 
lion  of  society. 

He  takes  thej>c7s  of  dukes  and  earls ;  all  the  nobility  crowd 
to  see  him  :  I  forget  how  many  baronesses  and  duchesses  fall 
in  love  with  him.  But  on  this  subject  let  us  hold  our  tongues. 
Modesty  forbids  that  we  should  reveal  the  names  of  the  heart- 
broken countesses  and  dear  marchionesses  who  are  pining  for 
every  one  of  the  contributors  in  Punch. 

If  anybody  wants  to  know  how  intimately  authors  are  con- 
nected with  the  fashionable  world,  they  have  but  to  read  the 
genteel  novels.  What  refinement  and  delicacy  pervades  the 
works  of  Mrs.  Barnaby !  What  delightful  good  company  do 
you  meet  with  in  Mrs.  Armytage  !  She  seldom  introduces  you 
to  anybody  under  a  marquis  !  I  don't  know  anything  more 
delicious  than  the  pictures  of  genteel  life  in  "  Ten  Thousand  a 
Year,"  except  perhaps  the  "Young  Duke,"  and  "  Coningsby." 
There's  a  modest  grace  about  them,  and  an  air  of  easy  high 
fashion,  which  only  belongs  to  blood,  my  dear  Sir — to  true 
blood. 

And  what  linguists  many  of  our  writers  are  !  Lady  Bulwer, 
Lady  Londonderry,  Sir  Edward  himself — they  write  the  French 
language  with  a  luxurious  elegance  and  ease  which  sets  them 
far  above  their  continental  rivals,  of  whom  not  one  (except 
Paul  de  Kock)  knows  a  word  of  English. 

And  what  Briton  can  read  without  enjoyment  the  works  of 
James,  so  admirable  for  terseness  ;  and  the  playful  humor  and 
dazzling  off-hand  lightness  of  Ainsworth  ?     Among  other  hu- 


ON  LITER  A  R  Y  SNOBS.  ^oi 

morists,  one  might  glance  at  a  Jerrold,  the  chivalrous  advocate 
of  Toryism  and  Church  and  State  ;  an  a  Beckett,  with  a  light- 
some pen,  but  a  savage  earnestness  of  purpose  ;  a  Jeames, 
whose  pure  style,  and  wit  unmingled  with  buffoonery,  was 
relished  by  a  congenial  public. 

Speaking  of  critics,  perhaps  there  never  was  a  review  that 
has  done  so  much  for  literature  as  the  admirable  Quarterly. 
It  has  its  prejudices,  to  be  sure,  as  which  of  us  have  not?  It 
goes  out  of  its  way  to  abuse  a  great  man,  or  lays  mercilessly 
on  to  such  pretenders  as  Keats  and  Tennyson  ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  the  friend  of  all  young  authors,  and  has  marked 
and  nurtured  all  the  rising  talent  of  the  country.  It  is  loved 
by  everybody.  There,  again,  is  Blackwood's  Magazine — con- 
spicuous for  modest  elegance  and  amiable  satire  ;  that  review 
never  passes  the  bounds  of  politeness  in  a  joke.  It  is  the  arbi- 
ter of  manners  ;  and,  while  gently  exposing  the  foibles  of  Lon- 
doners (for  whom  the  beaux  esprits  of  Edinburgh  entertain  a 
justifiable  contempt),  it  is  never  coarse  in  its  fun.  The  fiery 
enthusiasm  of  the  Athenaum  is  well  known  :  and  the  bitter  wit 
of  the  too  difficult  Literary  Gazette.  The  Examiner  is  perhaps 
too  timid,  and  the  Spectator  too  boisterous  in  its  praise — but 
who  can  carp  at  these  minor  faults  .'  No,  no  ;  the  critics  of 
England  and  the  authors  of  England  are  unrivalled  as  a  body ; 
and  hence  it  becomes  impossible  for  us  to  find  fault  with  them. 

Above  all,  I  never  knew  a  man  of  letters  ashamed  of  his  pro- 
fession. Those  w^ho  know  us,  know  what  an  affectionate  and 
brotherly  spirit  there  is  among  us  all.  Sometimes  one  of  us 
rises  in  the  world  :  we  never  attack  him  or  sneer  at  him  under 
those  circumstances,  but  rejoice  to  a  man  at  his  success.  If 
Jones  dines  with  a  lord.  Smith  never  says  Jones  is  a  courtier 
and  cringer.  Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  does  Jones,  who  is  in 
the  habit  of  frequenting  the  society  of  great  people,  give  him- 
self any  airs  on  account  of  the  company  he  keeps  ;  but  will 
leave  a  duke's  arm  in  Pall  Mall  to  come  over  and  speak  to  poor 
Brown,  the  young  penny-a-liner. 

That  sense  of  equality  and  fraternity  amongst  authors  has 
always  struck  me  as  one  of  the  most  amiable  characteristics  of 
the  class.  It  is  because  we  know  and  respect  each  other,  that 
the  world  respects  us  so  much  ;  that  we  hold  such  a  good  posi- 
tion in  society,  and  demean  ourselves  so  irreproachably  when 
there. 

Literary  persons  are  held  in  such  esteem  by  the  nation,  that 
about  two  of  them  have  been  absolutely  invited  to  court  during 
the  present  reign  ;  and  it  is  probable  that  towards  the  end  of 


302 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


the  season,  one  or  two  will  be  asked  to  dinner  by  Sir  Robert 
Peel. 

They  are  such  favorites  with  the  public,  that  they  are  con- 
tinually obliged  to  have  their  pictures  taken  and  published  ; 
and  one  or  two  could  be  pointed  out,  of  whom  the  nation  in- 
sists upon  having  a  fresh  portrait  every  year.  Nothing  can  be 
more  gratifying  than  this  proof  of  the  affectionate  regard  which 
the  people  has  for  its  instructors. 

Literature  is  held  in  such  honor  in  England,  that  there  is  a 
sum  of  near  twelve  hundred  pounds  per  annum  set  apart  to 
pension  deserving  persons  following  that  profession.  And  a 
great  compliment  this  is,  too,  to  the  professors,  and  a  proof  of 
their  generally  prosperous  and  flourishing  condition.  They  are 
generally  so  rich  and  thrifty,  that  scarcely  any  money  is  wanted 
to  help  them. 

If  every  word  of  this  is  true,  how.  I  should  like  to  know,  am 
I  to  write  about  Literary  Snobs. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

A    LITTLE    ABOUT    IRISH    SNOBS. 


You  do  not,  to  be  sure,  imagine  that  there  are  no  other 
Snobs  in  Ireland  than  those  of  the  amiable  party  who  wish  to 
make  pikes  of  iron  railroads  (it's  a  fine  Irish  economy),  and  to 
cut  the  throats  of  the  Saxon  invaders.  These  are  the  venom- 
ous sort ;  and  had  they  been  invented  in  his  time,  St.  Patrick 
would  ha\'e  banished  them  out  of  the  kingdom  along  with  the 
other  dangerous  reptiles. 

I  think  it  is  the  Four  Masters,  or  else  it's  Olaus  Magnus,  or 
else  it's  certainly  O'Neill  Daunt,  in  the  "  Catechism  of  Irish 
Histor}-,"  who  relates  that  when  Richard  the  Second  came  to 
Ireland,  and  the  Irish  chiefs  did  homage  to  him,  going  down 
on  their  knees — the  poor  simple  creatures  ! — and  worshipping 
and  wondering  before  the  English  king  and  the  dandies  of  his 
court,  my  lords  the  English  noblemen  mocked  and  jeered  at 
their  uncouth  Irish  admirers,  mimicked  their  talk  and  gestures, 
pulled  their  poor  old  beards,  and  laughed  at  the  strange  fashion 
of  their  "•arments. 


A  LITTLE  ABOUT  IRISH  SNOBS.  303 

The  English  Snob  rampant  ahvays  does  this  to  the  present 
day.  There  is  no  Snob  in  existence,  perhaps,  that  has  such  an 
indomitable  belief  in  himself :  that  sneers  you  down  all  the  rest 
of  the  world  besides,  and  has  such  an  insufferable,  admirable, 
stupid  contempt  for  all  people  but  his  own — na)',  for  all  sets 
but  his  own.  "  Gwacious  Gad  ! "  what  stories  about  "  the 
I\yish"  these  young  dandies  accompanying  King  Richard  must 
have  had  to  tell,  Vv'hen  they  returned  to  Pall  Mall,  and  smoked 
their  cigars  upon  the  steps  of  "  White's  !  " 

The  Irish  snobbishness  developes  itself  not  in  pride  so  much 
as  in  servility  and  mean  admirations,  and  trumpery  imitations 
of  their  neighbors.  And  I  wonder  De  Tocqueville  and  De 
Beaumont,  and  The  Times'  Commissioner,  did  not  explain  the 
Snobbishness  of  Ireland  as  contrasted  with  our  own.  Ours  is 
that  of  Richard's  Norman  Knights, — haughty,  brutal,  stupid, 
and  perfectly  self-confident ;  theirs,  of  the  poor,  wondering, 
kneeling,  simple  chieftains.  They  are  on  their  knees  still  be- 
fore English  fashion — these  simple,  wild  people  ;  and  indeed  it 
is  hard  not  to  grin  at  some  of  their  naive  exhibitions. 

Some  years  since,  when  a  certain  great  orator  was  Lord 
Mayor  of  Dublin,  he  used  to  wear  a  red  gown  and  a  cocked 
hat,  the  splendor  of  which  delighted  him  as  much  as  a  new  cur- 
tain-ring in  her  nose  or  a  string  of  glass-beads  round  her  neck 
charms  Queen  Quasheeneaboo.  He  used  to  pay  visits  to  peo- 
ple in  this  dress  ;  to  appear  at  meetings  hundreds  of  miles  off, 
in  the  red  velvet  gown.  And  to  hear  the  people  crying  "  Yes, 
me  Lard  !  "  and  "  No,  me  Lard  !  "  and  to  read  the  prodigious 
accounts  of  his  Lordship  in  the  papers  :  it  seemed  as  if  the 
people  and  he  liked  to  be  taken  in  by  this  twopenny  splendor. 
Twopenny  magnificence,  indeed,  exists  all  over  Ireland,  and  may 
be  considered  as  the  great  characteristic  of  the  Snobbishness 
of  that  country. 

When  Mrs.  Mulholligan,  the  grocer's  lady,  retires  to  Kings- 
town, she  has  "  Mulholliganville  "  painted  over  the  gate  of  her 
villa  ;  and  receives  you  at  a  door  that  won't  shut,  or  gazes  at 
you  out  of  a  window  that  is  glazed  with  an  old  petticoat. 

Be  it  ever  so  shabby  and  dismal,  nobody  ever  owns  to  keep- 
ing a  shop.  A  fellow  whose  stock-in-trade  is  a  penny  roll  or  a 
tumbler  of  lollipops,  calls  his  cabin  the  "  American  Flour 
Stores,"  or  the  "  Depository  for  Colonial  Produce,"  or  some 
such  name. 

As  for  Inns,  there  are  none  in  the  country ;  Hotels  abound, 
as  well  furnished  as  Mulholliganville  ;  but  again  there  are  no 
such  people  as  landlords  and  landladies  :  the  landlord  is  out 


3^4 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS 


with  the  hounds,  and  my  lady  in  the  parlor  talking  With  the 
Captain  or  playing  the  piano. 

If  a  gentleman  has  a  hundred  a  year  to  leave  to  his  family 
they  all  become  gentlemen,  all  keep  a  nag,  ride  to  hounds,  and 
swagger  about  in  the  "  Phaynix,"  and  grow  tufts  to  their  chins 
like  so  many  real  aristocrats. 

A  friend  of  mine  has  taken  to  be  a  painter,  and  lives  out  of 
Ireland,  where  he  is  considered  to  have  disgraced  the  family  by 
choosing  such  a  profession.  His  father  is  a  wine  merchant  \ 
and  his  elder  brother  an  apothecary. 

The  number  of  men  one  meets  in  London  and  on  the  Con- 
tinent who  have  a  pretty  little  property  of  five-and-twenty  hun- 
dred a  year  in  Ireland  is  prodigious  :  those  who  w///have  nine 
thousand  a  year  in  land  when  somebody  dies  are  still  more 
numerous.  I  myself  have  met  as  many  descendants  from  Irish 
kings  as  would  form  a  brigade. 

And  who  has  not  met  the  Irishman  who  apes  the  English- 
man, and  who  forgets  his  country  and  tries  to  forget  his  accent, 
or  to  smother  the  taste  of  it,  as  it  were  ?  "  Come,  dine  with 
me,  my  boy,"  says  O'Dowd,  of  O'Dowdstown  :  "you'll  find  us 
all  English  there ;  "  which  he  tells  you  with  a  brogue  as  broad 
as  from  here  to  Kingstown  Pier.  And  did  you  never  hear  Mrs. 
Captain  Macmanus  talk  about  "  I-ah-land,''  and  her  account  of 
her  '"'-  lawther's  esteet .''  "  Very  few  men  have  rubbed  through 
the  world  without  hearing  and  witnessing  some  of  these  Hiber- 
nian phenomena — these  twopenny  splendors. 

And  what  say  you  to  the  summit  of  society — the  Castle — 
with  a  sham  king,  and  sham  lords-in-waiting,  and  sham  loyalty, 
and  a  sham  Haroun  Alraschid,  to  go  about  in  a  sham  disguise, 
making  believe  to  be  affable  and  splendid }  That  Castle  is 
the  pink  and  pride  of  Snobbishness.  A  Court  Circular  is  bad 
enough,  with  two  columns  of  print  about  a  little  baby  that's 
christened — but  think  of  people  liking  a  sham  Court  Circular ! 

I  think  the  shams  of  Ireland  are  more  outrageous  than  those 
of  any  country.  A  fellow  shows  you  a  hill  and  says,  "That's 
the  highest  mountain  in  all  Ireland  ; "  or  a  gentleman  tells  you 
he  is  descended  from  Prian  Boroo,  and  has  his  five-and-thirty 
hundred  a  year  ;  or  Mrs.  Macmanus  describes  her  fawther's 
esteet ;  or  ould  Dan  rises  and  says  the  Irish  women  are  the 
loveliest,  the  Irish  men  the  bravest,  the  Irish  land  the  most 
fertile  in  the  world  :  and  nobody  believes  anybody — the  latter 
doesn't  believe  his  story  nor  the  hearer : — but  they  make- 
believe  to  believe,  and  solemnly  do  honor  to  humbug. 

0  Ireland  !     O  my  country  1   (for  i  make  little  doubt  that  I 


PARTY-GIVhYG  SNOBS.  305 

am  descended  from  Brian  Boroo  too)  when  will  you  acknowledge 
that  two  and  two  make  four,  and  call  a  pikestaff  a  pikestaff  ? — 
that  is  the  very  best  use  you  can  make  of  the  latter.  Irish 
snobs  will  dwindle  away  then,  and  we  shall  never  hear  tell  of 
Hereditary  Bondsmen. 


CHAPTER  XVni. 

P  A  R  T  V  -  O  I  V  I  N  Cr     SNOBS. 


Our  selection  of  Snobs  has  lately  been  too  exclusively  of  a 
political  character.  "  Give  us  private  Snobs,"  cry  the  dear 
ladies.  (I  have  before  me  the  letter  of  one  fair  correspondent 
of  the  fishing  village  of  Brighthelmstone  in  Sussex,  and  could 
her  commands  ever  be  disobeyed  'i)  "  Tell  us  more,  dear  Mr. 
Snob,  about  your  experience  of  Snobs  in  society."  Heaven 
bless  the  dear  souls  ! — they  are  accustomed  to  the  word  now — 
the  odious,  vulgar,  horrid,  unpronounceable  word  slips  out  of 
their  lips  with  the  prettiest  glibness  possible.  I  should  not 
wonder  if  it  were  used  at  Court  amongst  the  Maids  of  Honor. 
In  the  very  best  society  I  know  it  is.  And  why  not  ?  Snobbish- 
ness is  vulgar — the  mere  words  are  not :  that  which  we  call  a 
Snob,  by  any  other  name  would  still  be  Snobbish. 

Well,  then.  As  the  season  is  drawing  to  a  close  :  as  many 
hundreds  of  kind  souls,  snobbish  or  otherwise,  have  quitted 
London  ;  as  many  hospitable  carpets  are  taken  up  ;  and  win- 
dow-blinds are  pitilessly  papered  with  the  Alornhig  Herald ; 
and  mansions  once  inhabited  by  cheerful  owners  are  now  con- 
signed to  the  care  of  the  housekeeper's  dreary  locwn  tenens — 
some  moi  'dy  old  woman,  who,  in  reply  to  the  hopeless  clang- 
ing of  the  bell,  peers  at  you  for  a  moment  from  the  area,  and 
then  slowly  unbolting  the  great  hall-door,  informs  you  my  lady 
has  left  town,  or  that  "the  family's  in  the  country,"  or  "gone 
up  the  Rind," — or  what  not ;  as  the  season  and  parties  are 
over  j  why  not  consider  Party-giving  Snobs  for  a  while,  and 
review  the  conduct  of  some  of  those  individuals  who  have  quit- 
led  the  town  for  six  months  ? 

Some  of  those  worthy  Snobs  are  making  believe  to  go 
yachting,  and,  dressed  in  telescopes  and  pea-jackets,  are  pass- 
ing their  time  between  Cherbourg  and  Cowes  ;  some  living 
higgledy-piggledy  in  dismal  little  huts  in  Scotland,  provisioned 


3o6  THE  BOOK  OF  SAXIBS. 

with  canisters  of  portable  soup,  and  fricandeaux  hermetically 
sealed  in  tin,  are  passing  their  days  slaughtering  grouse  on  the 
moors  ;  some  are  dozing  and  bathing  away  the  effects  of  the 
season  at  Kissengen,  or  watching  the  ingenious  game  of  Trentc- 
et-quarajite  at  Homburg  and  Ems.  We  can  aft'ord  to  be  very 
bitter  upon  them  now  they  are  all  gone.  Now  there  are  no 
more  parties,  let  us  have  at  the  Party-giving  Snobs.  The  din- 
ner-giving, the  ball-giving,  the  dejei'tuer-gwAwg,  the  conversazione- 
giving  Snobs — Lord  !  Lord  !  what  havoc  might  have  been 
made  amongst  them  had  we  attacked  them  during  the  plethora 
of  the  season  !  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  have  a  guard  to 
defend  me  from  fiddlers  and  pastr3'-cooks,  indignant  at  the 
abuse  of  their  patrons.  Already  Lm  told  that,  from  some  flip- 
pant and  unguarded  expressions  considered  derogatory  to  Baker 
Street  and  Harley  Street,  rents  have  fallen  in  these  respectable 
quarters ;  and  orders  have  been  issued  that  at  least  Mr.  Snob 
shall  be  asked  to  parties  there  no  more.  Well,  then — now 
they  are  all  away,  let  us  frisk  at  our  ease,  and  have  at  every- 
thing, like  the  bull  in  the  china-shop.  They  mayn't  hear  of 
what  is  going  on  in  their  absence,  and,  if  they  do,  they  can't 
bear  malice  for  six  months.  We  will  begin  to  make  it  up  with 
them  about  next  February,  and  let  next  year  take  care  of  itself. 
We  shall  have  no  more  dinners  from  the  dinner-giving  Snobs  : 
no  more  balls  from  the  ball-givers  :  no  more  coiiversazmies 
(thank  Mussy  !  as  Jeames  says,)  from  the  Conversazione  Snob; 
and  what  is  to  prevent  us  from  telling  the  truth? 

The  snobbishness  of  Conversazione  Snobs  is  very  soon  dis 
posed  of :  as  soon  as  that  cup  of  washy  bohea  that  is  handed 
to  you  in  the  tea-room  ;  or  the  muddy  remnant  of  ice  that  you 
grasp  in  the  suffocating  scuffle  of  the  assembly  up  stairs. 

Good  heavens  !  W'hat  do  people  mean  by  going  there  } 
What  is  done  there,  that  everyloody  throngs  into  those  three 
little  rooms  1  Was  the  lUack  Hole  considered  to  be  an  agree- 
able reunion,  that  Britons  in  the  dog-days  here  seek  to  imitate 
it  ?  After  being  rammed  to  a  jelly  in  a  door-way  (where  you 
feel  your  feet  going  through  Lady  Barbara  Macbeth's  lace 
flounces,  and  get  a  look  from  that  haggard  and  painted  old 
harpy,  compared  to  which  the  gaze  of  Ugolino  is  quite  cheer- 
ful) ;  after  withdrawing  your  elbow  out  of  poor  gasping  Bob  Gut- 
tleton's  white  waistcoat,  from  which  cushion  it  was  impossible  to 
remove  it,  though  you  knew  you  were  squeezing  poor  Bob  into 
an  apoplexy — you  find  yourself  at  last  in  the  reception-room, 
and  try  to  catch  the  eye  of  Mrs.  Botibol,  the  co?iversaz2onc-g\\(tr. 
When  you  catch  her  eye,  you  are   expected  to  grin,  and  she 


PA  PTV-Cn  'ING  S.YOBS. 


307 


smiles  too,  for  the  four  hundredth  time  that  night  ;  and,  if  she's 
very  glad  to  see  you,  waggles  her  little  hand  before  her  face  as 
if  to  blow  you  a  kiss,  as  the  phrase  is. 

Why  the  deuce  should  Mrs.  Botibol  blow  me  a  kiss  ?  I 
wouldn't  kiss  her  for  the  world.  Why  do  I  grin  when  I  see 
her,  as  if  I  was  delighted  1  Am  I  ?  I  don't  care  a  straw  for 
Mrs.  Botibol.  I  know  what  she  thinks  about  me.  I  know 
what  she  said  about  my  last  volume  of  poems  (I  had  it  from  a 
dear  mutual  friend).  Wh)^,  I  say  in  a  word,  are  we  going  on 
ogling  and  telegraphing  each  other  in  this  insane  way  ? — 
Because  we  are  both  performing  the  ceremonies  demanded  by 
the  Great  Snob  Society  ;  whose  dictates  we  all  of  us  obey. 

Well  ;  the  recognition  is  over — my  jaws  have  returned  to 
their  usual  English  expression  of  subdued  agony  and  intense 
gloom,  and  the  Botibol  is  grinning  and  kissing  her  fingers  to 
somebody  else,  who  is  squeezing  through  the  aperture  by 
which  we  have  just  entered.  It  is  Lady  Ann  Clutterbuck,  who 
has  her  Friday  evenings,  as  Botibol  (Botty,  we  call  her),  has 
her  Wednesdays.  That  is  Miss  Clementina  Clutterbuck,  the 
cadaverous  young  woman  in  green,  with  florid  auburn  hair, 
who  has  just  published  her  volume  of  poems  ("  The  Death- 
Shriek;"  "  Damien  ;  "  "The  Faggot  of  Joan  of  Arc;"  and 
"Translations  from  the  German'' — of  course).  The  conver- 
sazione-women salute  each  other,  calling  each  other  "  My  dear 
Lady  Ann  "  and  "  My  dear  good  Eliza,"  and  hating  each 
other,  as  women  hate  who  give  parties  on  Wednesdays  and 
Fridays.  With  inexpressible  pain  dear  good  Eliza  sees  Ann 
go  up  and  coax  and  wheedle  Abou  Gosh,  who  has  just  arrived 
from  Syria,  and  beg  him  to  patronize  her  Fridays. 

All  this  while,  amidst  the  crowd  and  the  scuffle,  and  a  per- 
petual buzz  and  chatter,  and  the  flare  of  the  wax-candles,  and 
an  intolerable  smell  of  musk — what  the  poor  Snobs  who  write 
fashionable  romances  call  "  the  gleam  of  gems,  the  odor  of 
perfumes,  the  blaze  of  countless  lamps  " — a  scrubby-looking, 
yellow-faced  foreigner,  with  cleaned  gloves,  is  warbling  inau- 
dibly  in  a  corner,  to  the  accompaniment  of  another.  "  The 
Great  Cacafogo,"  Mrs.  Botibol  whispers,  as  she  passes  you  by. 
"  A  great  creature,  Thumpenstrumpff,  is  at  the  instrument — 
the  Hetman  Platoff's  pianist,  you  know." 

To  hear  this  Cacafogo  and  Thumpenstrumpff,  a  hundred 
people  are  gathered  together — a  bevy  of  dowagers,  stout  ot 
scraggy ;  a  faint  sprinkling  of  misses  ;  six  moody-looking  lords, 
perfectly  meek  and  solemn  ;  wonderful  foreign  Counts,  with 
bushy  whiskers  and  yellow  faces,  and  a  great  deal  of  dubious 

18* 


3o8  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

jewelry  ;  young  dandies  with  slim  waists  and  open  necks,  and 
self-satisfied  simpers,  and  flowers  in  their  buttons ;  the  old, 
stiff,  stout,  bald-headed  conversazione  roues,  whom  you  meet 
everywhere — who  never  miss  a  night  of  this  delicious  enjoy- 
ment ;  the  three  last-caught  lions  of  the  season — Higgs,  the 
traveller.  Biggs,  the  novelist,  and  Toffey,  who  has  come  out  so 
on  the  sugar  question  ;  Captain  Flash,  who  is  invited  on  account 
of  his  pretty  wife  ;  and  Lord  Ogleby,  who  goes  wherever  she 
goes.  Que  sgais-je  ?  Who  are  the  owners  of  all  those  showy 
scarfs  and  white  neck-cloths  ? — Ask  little  Tom  Prig,  who  is 
there  in  all  his  glory,  knows  everybody,  has  a  story  about  every 
one  ;  and,  as  he  trips  home  to  his  lodgings  in  Jermyn  Street, 
with  his  gibus-hat  and  his  little  glazed  pumps,  thinks  he  is  the 
fashionablest  young  fellow  in  town,  and  that  he  really  has 
passed  a  night  of  exquisite  enjoyment. 

You  go  up  (with  your  usual  easy  elegance  of  manner)  and 
talk  to  Miss  Smith  in  a  corner.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Snob,  I'm  afraid 
you're  sadly  satirical." 

That's  all  she  says.  If  you  say  it's  fine  weather,  she  bursts 
out  laughing;  or  hint  that  it's  very  hot,  she  vows  you  are  the 
drollest  wretch  !  Meanwhile  Mrs.  Botibol  is  simpering  on  fresh 
arrivals  ;  the  individual  at  the  door  is  roaring  out  their  names  ; 
poor  Cacafogo  is  quavering  away  in  the  music-room,  under  the 
impression  that  he  will  be  lance  in  the  world  by  singing  inaudi- 
bly  here.  And  what  a  blessing  it  is  to  squeeze  out  of  the  door, 
and  into  the  street,  where  a  half-hundred  of  carriages  are  in 
waiting  ;  and  where  the  link-boy,  with  that  unnecessary  lantern 
of  his,  pounces  upon  all  who  issue  out,  and  will  insist  upon  get- 
ting your  noble  honor's  lordship's  cab. 

And  to  think  that  there  are  people  who,  after  having  been 
to  Botibol  on  Wednesday,  will  go  to  Clutterbuck  on  Friday  ! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

DINING -OUT     SNOBS 


In  England  Dinner-giving  Snobs  occupy  a  very  important 
place  in  society,  and  the  task  of  describing  them  is  tremendous. 
There  was  a  time  in  my  life  when  the  consciousness  of  having 


DINING-OUT  SNOBS. 


309 


eaten  a  man's  salt  rendered  me  dumb  regarding  his  demerits, 
and  I  tliouglit  it  a  wielded  act  and  a  breachi  of  hospitality  to 
speak  ill  of  him. 

But  why  should  a  saddle  of  mutton  blind  you,  or  a  turbot 
and  lobster-sauce  shut  your  mouth  forever  ?  With  advancing 
age,  men  see  their  duties  more  clearly.  I  am  not  to  be  hood- 
winked any  longer  by  a  slice  of  venison,  be  it  ever  so  fat ;  and 
as  for  being  dumb  on  account  of  turbot  and  lobster-sauce — of 
course  I  am  ;  good  manners  ordain  that  I  should  be  so,  until  I 
have  swallowed  the  compound — but  not  afterwards ;  directly 
the  victuals  are  discussed,  and  John  takes  away  the  plate,  my 
tongue  begins  to  wag.  Does  not  yours,  if  you  have  a  pleasant 
neighbor  ?  —  a  lovely  creature,  say,  of  some  five-and-thirty, 
whose  daughters  have  not  yet  quite  come  out — they  are  the 
best  talkers.  As  for  your  young  misses,  they  are  only  put  about 
the  table  to  look  at — like  the  flowers  in  the  centre-piece.  Their 
blushing  youth  and  natural  modesty  preclude  them  from  that 
easy,  confidential,  conversational  abandon  which  forms  the  de- 
light of  the  intercourse  with  their  dear  mothers.  It  is  to  these, 
if  he  would  prosper  in  his  profession,  that  the  Dining-out  Snob 
should  address  himself.  Suppose  you  sit  next  to  one  of  these, 
how  pleasant  it  is,  in  the  intervals  of  the  banquet,  actually  to 
abuse  the  victuals  and  the  giver  of  the  entertainment !  It's 
twice  -Sl?,  piquant  to  make  fun  of  a  man  under  his  very  nose. 

"  What  is  a  Dinner-giving  Snob  ?  "  some  innocent  youth, 
who  is  not  repandu  in  the  world,  may  ask — or  some  simple 
reader  who  has  not  the  benefits  of  London  experience. 

My  dear  sir,  I  will  show  you — not  all,  for  that  is  impossible 
—  but  several  kinds  of  Dinner-giving  Snobs.  For  instance, 
suppose  you,  in  the  middle  rank  of  life,  accustomed  to  Mutton, 
roast  on  Tuesda}',  cold  on  Wednesday,  hashed  on  Thursday, 
&c.,  with  small  means  and  a  small  establishinent,  choose  to 
waste  the  former  and  set  the  latter  topsy-turvey  by  giving  en- 
tertainments unnaturally  costly — you  come  into  the  Dinner- 
giving  Snob  class  at  once.  Suppose  you  get  in  cheap-made 
dishes  from  the  pastry-cook's,  and  hire  a  couple  of  green  grocers, 
or  carpet-beaters,  to  figure  as  footmen,  dismissing  honest  Molly, 
who  waits  on  common  days,  and  bedizening  your  table  (or- 
dinarily ornamented  with  willow-pattern  crockery)  with  two- 
penny-halfpenny Birmingham  plate.  Suppose  you  pretend  to 
be  richer  and  grander  than  you  ought  to  be — you  are  a  Dinner- 
giving  Snob.  And  oh,  I  tremble  to  think  how  many  and  many 
a  one  will  read  this  ! 

A  man  who  entertains  in   this  way — and,  alas,  how  few  do 


3IO  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

not ! — is  like  a  fellow  who  would  borrow  his  neighbor's  coat  to 
make  a  show  in,  or  a  lady  who  flaunts  in  the  diamonds  from 
next  door — a  humbug,  in  a  word,  and  amongst  the  Snobs  he 
must  be  set  down. 

A  man  who  goes  out  of  his  natural  sphere  of  society  to  ask 
Lords,  Generals,  Aldermen,  and  other  persons  of  fashion,  but 
is  niggardly  of  his  hospitality  towards  his  own  equals,  is  a 
Dinner-giving  Snob.  My  dear  friend.  Jack  Tufthunt,  for  ex- 
ample, knows  one  Lord  whom  he  met  at  a  watering-place  :  old 
Lord  Mumble,  who  is  as  toothless  as  a  three-months-old  baby, 
and  as  mum  as  an  undertaker,  and  as  dull  as — well,  we  will  not 
particularize.  Tufthunt  never  has  a  dinner  now  but  you  see 
this  solemn  old  toothless  patrician  at  the  right-hand  of  Mrs. 
Tufthunt — Tufthunt  is  a  Dinner-giving  Snob. 

Old  Livermore,  old  Soy,  old  Chutney,  the  East  Indian 
Director,  old  Cutler,  the  Surgeon,  &c., — that  society  of  old 
fogies,  in  fine,  who  give  each  other  dinners  round  and  round, 
and  dine  for  the  mere  purpose  of  guttling — these,  again,  are 
Dinner-giving  Snobs. 

Again,  my  friend  Lady  INIacScrew,  who  has  three  grenadier 
flunkeys  in  lace  round  the  table,  and  serves  up  a  scrag  of  mutton 
on  silver,  and  dribbles  you  out  bad  sherry  and  port  by  thimble- 
fuls,  is  a  Dinner-giving  Snob  of  the  other  sort ;  and  I  confess, 
for  my  part,  I  would  rather  dine  with  old  Livermore  or  old  Soy 
than  with  her  Ladyship. 

Stinginess  is  snobbish.  Ostentation  is  snobbish.  Too 
great  profusion  is  snobbish.  Tuft-hunting  is  snobbish.  But  I 
own  there  are  people  more  snobbish  than  all  those  whose  defects 
are  above  mentioned  :  viz. :  those  individuals  who  can,  and 
don't  give  dinners  at  all.  The  man  without  hospitality  shall 
never  sit  sub  iisdem  trabibiis  with  me.  Let  the  sordid  wretch  go 
mumble  his  bon€  alone  ! 

What,  again,  is  tiy.:e  hospitality  }  Alas,  my  dear  friends 
and  brother  Snobs  !  how  little  do  we  meet  of  it  after  all !  Are 
the  motives//cr^  which  induce  your  friends  to  ask  you  to  dinner  ? 
This  has  often  come  across  me.  Does  your  entertamer  want 
something  from  you  ?  For  instance,  I  am  not  of  a  suspicious 
turn  ;  but  it  is  a  fact  that  when  Hookey  is  bringing  out  a  new 
work,  he  asks  the  critics  all  round  to  dinner  ;  that  when  Walker 
has  got  his  picture  ready  for  the  Exhibition,  he  somehow  grows 
exceedingly  hospitable,  and  has  his  friends  of  the  press  to  a 
quiet  cutlet  and  a  glass  of  Sillery.  Old  Hunks,  the  miser,  who 
died  lately  (leaving  his  money  to  his  housekeeper)  lived  many 
years  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  by  simply  taking  down,  at  all  his 


DINING-0U7^  SNOBS. 


3Tt 


friends',  the  names  and  Christian  names  of  all  the  children. 
But  though  you  may  have  your  own  opinion  about  tlie  hospitaUty 
of  your  acquaintances  ;  and  though  men  who  ask  you  from 
sordid  motives  are  most  decidedly  Dinner-giving  Snobs,  it  is 
best  not  to  inquire  into  their  motives  too  keenly.  Be  not  too , 
curious  about  the  mouth  of  a  gift-horse.  After  all,  a  man  does 
not  intend  to  insult  you  by  asking  you  to  dinner. 

Though,  for  that  matter,  I  know  some  characters  about 
town  who  actually  consider  themselves  injured  and  insulted  if 
the  dinner  or  the  company  is  not  to  their  liking.  There  is 
Guttleton,  who  dines  at  home  off  a  shilling's-worth  of  beef  from 
the  cook  shop,  but  if  he  is  asked  to  dine  at  a  house  where  there 
are  not  pease  at  the  end  of  May,  or  cucumbers  in  March  along 
with  the  turbot,  thinks  himself  insulted  by  being  invited.  "  Good 
Ged  !  "  says  he,  "  what  the  deuce  do  the  Forkers  mean  by  ask- 
ing me  to  a  family  dinner  !  I  can  get  mutton  at  home  ; "  or 
"  What  infernal  impertinence  it  is  of  the  Spooners  to  get  entrees 
from  the  pastry-cook's,  and  fancy  that  /  am  to  be  deceived  with 
their  stories  about  their  French  cook  !  "  Then,  again,  there  is 
Jack  Puddington — I  saw  that  honest  fellow  t'other  day  quite  in 
a  rage,  because,  as  chance  would  have  it,  Sir  John  Carver 
asked  him  to  meet  the  very  same  party  he  had  met  at  Colonel 
Cramley's  the  day  before,  and  he  had  not  got  up  a  new  set  of 
stories  to  entertain  them.  Poor  Dinner-giving  Snobs  !  you 
don't  know  what  small  thanks  you  get  for  all  your  pains  and 
money  !  How  we  Dining-out  Snobs  sneer  at  your  cookery, 
and  pooh-pooh  your  old  hock,  and  are  incredulous  about  your 
four-and-sixpenny  champagne,  and  know  that  the  side-dishes  of 
to-day  are  rechauffes  from  the  dinner  of  yesterday,  and  mark 
how  certain  dishes  are  whisked  off  the  table  untasted,  so  that 
they  may  figure  at  the  banquet  to-morrow.  \\'henever,  for  my 
part,  I  see  the  head  man  particularly  anxious  to  escanwter  a 
fricandeau  or  a  blanc-mange,  I  always  call  out,  and  insist  upon 
massacring  it  with  a  spoon.  All  this  sort  of  conduct  makes 
one  popular  with  the  Dinner-giving  Snob.  One  friend  of  mine, 
I  know,  has  made  a  prodigious  sensation  in  good  society,  by 
announcing  apropos  of  certain  dishes  when  offered  to  him,  that 
he  never  eats  aspic  except  at  Lord  Tittup's,  and  that  Lady 
Jiminy's  chef  is  the  only  man  in  London  who  knows  how  to 
dress — Filet  en  serpenteau — ^or  Supreme  de  volaille  aux  truffes. 


2ia  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS, 

CHAPTER   XX. 

DINNER-GIVING    SNOBS    FURTHER    CONSIDERED. 

If  my  friends  would  but  follow  the  present  prevailing 
fashion,  I  think  they  ought  to  give  me  a  testimonial  for  the 
paper  on  Dinner-giving  Snobs,  which  I  am  now  writing.  W^hat 
do  you  say  now  to  a  handsome  comfortable  dinner-service  of 
plate  {iiot  including  plates,  for  I  hold  silver  plates  to  be  sheer 
wantonness,  and  would  almost  as  soon  think  of  silver  tea-cups), 
a  couple  of  neat  teapots,  a  coffee-pot,  trays,  &c.,  with  a  little 
inscription  to  my  Avife,  Mrs.  Snob  ;  and  a  half-score  of  silver 
tankards  for  the  little  Snoblings,  to  glitter  on  the  homely  table 
where  they  partake  of  their  quotidian  mutton  ? 

If  I  had  my  way,  and  my  plans  could  be  carried  out,  dinner- 
giving  would  increase  as  much  on  the  one  hand  as  dinner-giving 
Snobbishness  would  diminish  : — to  my  mind  the  most  amiable 
part  of  the  work  lately  published  by  my  esteemed  friend  (if 
upon  a  very  brief  acquaintance  he  will  allow  me  to  call  him  so), 
Alexis  Soyer,  the  regenerator — what  he  (in  his  noble  style) 
would  call  the  most  succulent,  savory,  and  elegant  passages — 
are  those  which  relate,  not  to  the  grand  banquets  and  ceremo- 
nial dinners,  but  to  his  "  dinners  at  home." 

The  "  dinner  at  home  "  ought  to  be  the  centre  of  the  whole 
system  of  dinner-giving.  Your  usual  style  of  meal — that  is, 
plenteous,  comfortable,  and  in  its  perfection — should  be  that 
to  which  you  welcome  your  friends,  as  it  is  that  of  which  you 
partake  yourself. 

For,  towards  what  woman  in  the  w-orld  do  I  entertain  a 
higher  regard  than  towards  the  beloved  partner  of  my  existence, 
Mrs.  Snob  ?  Who  should  have  a  greater  place  in  my  affections 
than  her  six  brothers  (three  or  four  of  whom  we  are  pretty  sure 
will  favor  us  with  their  company  at  seven  o'clock),  or  her 
angelic  mother,  my  own  valued  mother-in-law  ? — for  whom, 
finally,  w^ould  I  wish  to  cater  more  generously  than  for  your  very 
humble  servant,  the  present  writer .-'  Now,  nobody  supposes 
that  the  Birmingham  plate  is  had  out,  the  disguised  carpet- 
beaters  introduced  to  the  exclusion  of  the  neat  parlor-maid, 
the  miserable  entrees  from  the  pastry-cook's  ordered  in,  and  the 
children  packed  off  (as  it  is  supposed)  to  the  nursery,  but  really 
only  to  the  staircase,  down  which  they  slide  during  the  dinnep 


DINNER-GIVING  SNOBS  FURTHER  CONSIDERED.     313 

time,  waylaying  the  dishes  as  they  come  out,  and  fingering  the 
round  bumps  on  the  jellies,  and  the  forced-meat  balls  in  the 
soup, — nobody,  I  say,  supposes  that  a  dinner  at  home  is  charac- 
terized by  the  horrible  ceremony,  the  foolish  makeshifts,  the 
mean  pomp  and  ostentation  which  distinguish  our  banquets  on 
grand  field-days. 

Such  a  notion  is  monstrous.  I  would  as  soon  think  of 
having  my  dearest  Bessy  sitting  opposite  me  in  a  turban  and 
bird  of  paradise,  and  showing  her  jolly  mottled  arms  out  of 
blonde  sleeves  in  her  famous  red  satin  gown  :  ay,  or  of  having 
Mr.  Toole  every  day,  in  a  white  waistcoat,  at  my  back,  shouting, 
"  Silencey^rw  the  chair  !  " 

Now,  if  this  be  the  case  ;  if  the  Brummagem-plate  pomp 
and  the  processions  of  disguised  footmen  are  odious  and  foolish 
in  every-day  life,  why  not  always  ?  Why  should  Jones  and  I, 
who  are  in  the  middle  rank,  alter  the  modes  of  our  being  to 
assume  an  eclat  which  does  not  belong  to  us — to  entertain  our 
friends,  who  (if  we  are  worth  anything,  and  honest  fellows  at 
bottom,)  are  men  of  the  middle  rank  too,  who  are  not  in  the 
least  deceived  by  our  temporary  splendor,  and  who  play  off 
exactly  the  same  absurd  trick  upon  us  when  they  ask  us  to  dine  ? 

If  it  be  pleasant  to  dine  with  your  friends,  as  all  persons 
with  good  stomachs  and  kindly  hearts  will,  I  presume,  allow  it 
to  be,  it  is  better  to  dine  twice  than  to  dine  once.  It  is  im- 
possible for  men  of  small  means  to  be  continually  spending 
five-and-twenty  or  thirty  shillings  on  each  friend  who  sits  down 
to  their  table.  People  dine  for  less.  1  myself  have  seen,  at 
my  favorite  Club  (the  Senior  United  Service),  His  Grace  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  quite  contented  with  the  joint,  one-and- 
three,  and  half-pint  of  sherry  wine,  nine  ;  and  if  his  Grace,  wliy 
not  you  and  I  ? 

This  rule  I  have  made,  and  found  the  benefit  of.  Whenever 
I  ask  a  couple  of  Dukes  and  a  Marquis  or  so  to  dine  with  me, 
I  set  them  down  to  a  piece  of  beef,  or  a  leg-of-mutton  and 
trimmings.  The  grandees  thank  you  for  this  simplicity,  and 
appreciate  the  same.  My  dear  Jdnes,  ask  any  of  those  whom 
you  have  the  honor  of  knowing,  if  such  be  not  the  case. 

I  am  far  from  wishing  that  their  Graces  should  treat  me  in 
a  similar  fashion.  Splendor  is  a  part  of  their  station,  as  decent 
comfort  (let  us  trust),  of  yours  and  mine.  Fate  has  comfort- 
ably appointed  gold  plate  for  some,  and  has  bidden  others 
contentedly  to  wear  the  willow-pattern.  And  being  perfectly 
contented  (indeed  humbly  thankful — for  look  around,  O  Jones, 
and  see  the  myriads  who  are  not  so  fortunate,)  to  wear  honest 


3U 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


linen,  while  magnificos  of  tlie  world  are  adorned  with  cambric 
and  point-lace,  surely  we  ought  to  hold  as  miserable,  envious 
fools,  those  wretched  Beaux  Tibbs's  of  society,  who  sport  a 
lace  dickey,  and  nothing  besides, — the  poor  silly  jays,  who  trail 
a  peacock's  feather  behind  them,  and  think  to  simulate  the 
gorgeous  bird  whose  nature  it  is  to  strut  on  palace-terraces,  and 
to  flaunt  his  magnificent  fan-tail  in  the  sunshine  ! 

The  jays  with  peacocks'  feathers  are  the  Snobs  of  this 
world  :  and  never,  since  the  days  of  ^-Esop,  were  they  more 
numerous  in  any  land  than  they  are  at  present  in  this  free 
country. 

How  does  this  most  ancient  apologue  apply  to  the  subject 
in  hand — the  Dinner-giving  Snob.  The  imitation  of  the  great 
is  universal  in  this  City,  from  the  palaces  of  Kensingtonia  and 
Belgravia,  even  to  the  remotest  corner  of  Brunswick  Square. 
Peacocks'  feathers  are  stuck  in  the  tails  of  most  families. 
Scarce  one  of  us  domestic  birds  but  imitates  the  lanky,  pav- 
onine strut,  and  shrill,  genteel  scream.  O  you  misguided 
dinner-giving  Snobs,  think  how  much  pleasure  you  lose,  and 
how  much  mischief  you  do  with  your  absurd  grandeurs  and 
hypocrisies  !  You  stuff  each  other  with  unnatural  forced-meats, 
and  entertain  each  other  to  the  ruin  of  friendship  (let  alone 
health)  and  the  destruction  of  hospitality  and  good  fellowship 
— you,  who  but  for  the  peacock's  tail  might  chatter  away  so 
much  at  your  ease,  and  be  so  jovial  and  happy  ! 

When  a  man  goes  into  a  great  set  company  of  dinner-giving 
and  dinner-receiving  Snobs,  if  he  has  a  philosophical  turn  of 
mind,  he  will  consider  what  a  huge  humbug  the  whole  affair  is ; 
the  dishes,  and  the  drink,  and  the  servants,  and  the  plate,  and 
the  host  and  hostess,  and  the  conversation,  and  the  company, 
— the  philosopher  included. 

The  host  is  smiling,  and  hob-nobbing,  and  talking  up  and 
down  the  table  ;  but  a  prey  to  secret  terrors  and  anxieties,  lest 
the  wines  he  has  brought  up  from  the  cellar  should  prove  in- 
sufficient ;  lest  a  corked  bottle  should  destroy  his  calculations  \ 
or  our  friend  the  carpet-beater,  by  making  some  beviw,  should 
disclose  his  real  quality  of  green-grocer,  and  show  that  he  is  not 
the  family  butler. 

The  hostess  is  smiling  resolutely  through  all  the  courses, 
smiling  through  her  agony  ;  though  her  heart  is  in  the  kitchen, 
and  she  is  speculating  with  terror  lest  there  be  any  disaster 
there.  If  the  souffle  should  collapse,  or  if  Wiggins  does  not 
send  the  ices  in  time — she  feels  as  if  she  would  commit  suicide 
— that  smiling,  jolly  woman  ! 


SOME  CONTINENTAL  SNOBS.  315 

The  children  up  stairs  are  yelUng,  as  their  maid  is  crimping 
their  miserable  ringlets  with  hot  tongs,  tearing  Miss  Emmy's 
hair  out  by  the  roots,  or  scrubbing  Miss  Polly's  dumpy  nose 
with  mottled  soap  till  the  little  wretch  screams  herself  into  fits. 
The  young  males  of  the  family  are  employed,  as  we  have  stated, 
in  piratical  exploits  upon  the  landing-place. 

The  servants  are  not  servants,  but  the  before-mentioned 
retail  tradesmen. 

The  plate  is  not  plate,  but  a  mere  shiny  Birmingham  lacker  j 
and  so  is  the  hospitality,  and  everything  else. 

The  talk  is  Birmingham  talk.  The  wag  of  the  party,  with 
bitterness  in  his  heart,  having  just  quitted  his  laundress,  who  is 
dunning  him  for  her  bill,  is  firing  off  good  stories  ;  and  the 
opposition  wag  is  furious  that  he  cannot  get  an  innings.  Jaw- 
kins,  the  great  conversationalist,  is  scornful  and  indignant  with 
the  pair  of  them,  because  he  is  kept  out  of  court.  Young 
Muscadel,  that  cheap  dandy,  is  talking  fashion  and  Almack's 
out  of  the  Morning  Post,  and  disgusting  his  neighbor,  Mrs.  Fox, 
who  reflects  that  she  has  never  been  there.  The  widow  is  vexed 
out  of  patience,  because  her  daughter  Maria  has  got  a  place 
beside  young  Cambric,  the  penniless  curate,  and  not  by  Colonel 
Goldmore,  the  rich  widower  from  India.  The  Doctor's  wife  is 
sulky,  because  she  has  not  been  led  out  before  the  barrister's 
lady  ;  old  Doctor  Cork  is  grumbling  at  the  wine,  and  Guttleton 
sneering  at  the  cookery. 

And  to  think  that  all  these  people  might  be  so  happy,  and 
easy,  and  friendly,  were  they  brought  together  in  a  natural  un- 
pretentious way,  and  but  for  an  unhappy  passion  for  peacocks' 
feathers  in  England.  Gentle  shades  of  Marat  and  Robespierre  ! 
when  I  see  how  all  the  honesty  of  society  is  corrupted  among 
us  by  the  miserable  fashion-worship,  I  feel  as  angry  as  Mrs. 
Fox  just  mentioned,  and  ready  to  order  a  general  battue  of 
peacocks. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SOME    CONTINENTAL    SNOBS. 


Now  that  September  has  come,  and  all  our  Parliamentary 
duties  are  over,  perhaps  no  class  of  Snobs  are  in  such  high 
feather  as  the  Continental  Snobs.     I  watch  these  daily  as  they 


3i6  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

commence  their  migration  from  the  beach  at  Folkestone.  I 
see  shoals  of  them  depart  (not  perhaps  without  an  innate  long- 
ing too  to  quit  the  Island  along  with  those  happy  Snobs).  Fare- 
well, dear  friends,  I  say  :  you  little  know  that  the  individual 
who  regards  you  from  the  beach  is  your  friend  and  histori- 
ographer and  brother. 

I  went  to-day  to  see  our  excellent  friend  Snooks,  on  board 
the  "Queen  of  the  French  ;"  many  scores  of  Snobs  were  there, 
on  the  deck  of  that  fine  ship,  marching  forth  in  their  pride  and 
bravery.  They  will  be  at  Ostend  in  four  hours  ;  they  will  inun- 
date the  Continent  next  week  ;  they  will  carry  into  far  lands 
the  famous  image  of  the  British  Snob.  I  shall  not  see  them — 
but  am  with  them  in  spirit :  and  indeed  there  is  hardly  a 
country  in  the  known  and  civilized  world  in  which  these  eyes 
have  not  beheld  them. 

I  have  seen  Snobs,  in  pink  coats  and  hunting-boots,  scouring 
over  the  Campagna  of  Rome  ;  and  have  heard  their  oaths  and 
their  well-known  slang  in  the  galleries  of  the  Vatican,  and 
under  the  shadowy  arches  of  the  Colosseum.  I  have  met  a 
Snob  on  a  dromedary  in  the  desert,  and  picnicking  under  the 
Pyramid  of  Cheops.  I  like  to  think  how  many  gallant  British 
Snobs  there  are,  at  this  minute  of  writing,  pushing  their  heads 
out  of  every  window  in  the  courtyard  of  "  Meurice's  "  in  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli  ;  or  roaring  out,  "  Garsong,  du  pang,"  "  Garson, 
du  vang  ; "  or  swaggering  down  the  Toledo  at  Naples  ;  or  even 
how  many  will  be  on  the  look-out  for  Snooks  on  Ostend  Pier, 
— for  Snooks,  and  the  rest  of  the  Snobs  on  board  the  "  Queen 
of  the  French." 

Look  at  the  Marquis  of  Carabas  and  his  two  carriages. 
My  Lady  Marchioness  comes  on  board,  looks  round  with  that 
happy  air  of  mingled  terror  and  impertinence  which  distin- 
guishes her  ladyship,  and  rushes  to  her  carriage,  for  it  is 
impossible  that  she  should  mingle  with  the  other  snobs  on  deck. 
There  she  sits,  and  will  be  ill  in  private.  The  strawberry- 
leaves  on  her  chariot-panels  are  engraved  on  her  ladyships' 
heart.  If  she  were  going  to  heaven  instead  of  to  Ostend,  I 
rather  think  she  would  expect  to  have  des  places  reservees  for 
her,  and  would  send  to  order  the  best  rooms.  A  courier,  with 
his  money-bag  of  office  round  his  shoulders — a  huge  scowling 
footman,  whose  dark  pepper-and-salt  livery  glistens  with  the 
heraldic  insignia  of  the  Carabases — a  brazen-looking,  tawdry 
Yx(:.\-\c\\fcm})ie-de-chambre  (none  but  a  female  pen  can  do  justice 
to  that  wonderful  tawdry  toilette  of  the  lady's  maid  en  voyage) 
■ — and  a  miserable  dame  de  compazine,  a»f'  ministering  to  the 


SOME  COXTLVE.VTAL  SiYOBS. 


3^7 


?vants  of  her  ladyship  and  her  King  Charles's  spaniel.  They 
are  rushing  to  and  fro  with  eau-de-Cologne,  pocket-handker- 
chiefs, which  are  all  fringe  and  cipher,  and  popping  mysterious 
cushions  behind  and  before,  and  in  every  available  corner  of 
the  carriage. 

The  little  Marquis,  her  husband,  is  walking  about  the  deck 
in  a  bewildered  manner,  with  a  lean  daughter  on  each  arm  : 
the  carroty-tufted  hope  of  the  family  is  already  smoking  on  the 
foredeck  in  a  travelling  costume  checked  all  over,  and  in  little 
lacker-tipped  jean  boots,  and  a  shirt  embroidered  with  pink 
boa-constrictors.  What  is  it  that  gives  travelling  Snobs  such  a 
marvellous  propensity  to  rush  into  a  costume  ?  Why  should  a 
man  not  travel  in  a  coat,  &c.  ?  but  think  proper  to  dress  him- 
self like  a  harlequin  in  mourning  ?  See,  even  young  Alder- 
manbury,  the  tallow  merchant,  who  has  just  stejoped  on  board, 
has  got  a  travelling-dress  gaping  all  over  with  pockets  ;  and 
little  Tom  Tapeworm,  the  lawyer's  clerk  out  of  the  City,  who 
has  but  three  weeks'  leave,  turns  out  in  gaiters  and  a  bran-new 
shooting-jacket,  and  must  let  the  mustaches  grow  on  his  little 
snuffy  upper  lip,  forsooth  ! 

Pompey  Hicks  is  giving  elaborate  directions  to  his  servant, 
and  asking  loudly,  "  Davis,  where's  the  dwessing-case  } "  and 
"  Davis,  you'd  best  take  the  pistol-case  into  the  cabin." 
Little  Pompey  travels  with  a  dressing-case,  and  without  a 
beard  :  who  he  is  going  to  shoot  with  his  pistols,  who  on  earth 
can  tell  ?  and  what  he  is  to  do  with  his  servant  but  wait  upon 
him,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  conjecture. 

Look  at  honest  Nathan  Houndsditch  and  his  lady,  and  their 
little  son.  What  a  noble  air  of  blazing  contentment  illumi- 
nates the  features  of  those  Snobs  of  Eastern  race  !  What  a 
toilette  Houndsditch's  is !  What  rings  and  chains,  what  gold- 
headed  canes  and  diamonds,  what  a  tuft  the  rogue  has  got  to 
his  chin  (the  rogue  !  he  will  never  spare  himself  any  cheap  en- 
joyment !)  Little  Houndsditch  has  a  little  cane  with  a  gilt 
head  and  little  mosaic  ornaments — altogether  an  extra  air.  As 
for  the  lady,  she  is  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  !  she  has  a 
pink  parasol,  with  a  white  lining,  and  a  yellow  bonnet,  and  an 
emerald-green  shawl,  and  a  shot-silk  pelisse  ;  and  drab  boots 
and  rhubarb-colored  gloves  ;  and  parti-colored  glass  buttons, 
expanding  from  the  size  of  a  fourpenny-piece  to  a  crown,  glitter 
and  twiddle  all  down  the  front  of  her  gorgeous  costume.  I 
have  said  before,  I  like  to  look  at  "the  Peoples  "  on  their  gala 
days,  they  are  so  picturesquely  and  outrageously  splendid  and 
liappy. 


318 


THE  BOOK  OF  SXOBS. 


Yonder  comes  Captain  Bull ;  sj^ick  and  span,  tight  and  trim  ; 
who  travels  for  four  or  six  months  every  year  of  his  life  ; 
who  does  not  commit  himself  by  luxury  of  raiment  or  insolence 
of  demeanor,  but  I  think  is  as  great  a  Snob  as  any  man  on 
board.  Bull  passes  the  season  in  London,  sponging  for  dinners, 
and  sleeping  in  a  garret  near  his  Club.  Abroad,  he  has  been 
everywhere  ;  he  knows  the  best  wine  at  every  inn  in  every  capi- 
tal in  Europe  ;  lives  with  the  best  English  company  there  ;  has 
seen  every  palace  and  picture-gallery  from  Madrid  to  Stock- 
holm ;  speaks  an  abominable  little  jargon  of  half  a  dozen  lan- 
guages— and  knows  nothing — nothing.  Bull  hunts  tufts  on  the 
Continent,  and  is  a  sort  of  amateur  courier.  He  will  scrape 
acquaintance  with  old  Carabas  before  they  make  Ostend  ;  and 
will  remind  his  lordship  that  he  met  him  at  Vienna  twenty  years 
ago,  or  gave  him  a  glass  of  Schnaj^ps  up  the  Righi.  We  have 
said  Bull  knows  nothing :  he  knows  the  birth,  arms,  and  pedi- 
gree of  all  the  peerage,  has  poked  his  little  eyes  into  every  one 
of  the  carriages  on  board — their  panels  noted  and  their  crests 
surveyed  ;  he  knows  all  the  Continental  stories  of  English 
scandal — how  Count  Towrowski  ran  off  with  IVIiss  Baggs  at 
Naples — how  very  thick  Lady  Smigsmag  was  with  young  Corni- 
chon  of  the  French  Legation  at  Florence — the  exact  amount 
which  Jack  Deuceace  won  of  Bob  Greengoose  at  Baden — what 
it  is  that  made  the  Staggs  settle  on  the  Continent :  the  sum  for 
which  the  O'Goggarty  estates  are  mortgaged,  &:c.  If  he  can't 
catch  a  lord  he  will  hook  on  to  a  baronet,  or  else  the  old  wretch 
will  catch  hold  of  some  beardless  young  stripling  of  fashion, 
and  show  him  "  life  "  in  various  and  amiable  and  inaccessible 
quarters.  Faugh  !  the  old  brute  !  If  he  has  every  one  of  the 
vices  of  the  most  boisterous  youth,  at  least  he  is  comforted  by 
having  no  conscience.  He  is  utterly  stupid,  but  of  a  jovial  turn. 
He  believes  himself  to  be  quite  a  respectable  member  of  so- 
ciety :  but  perhaps  the  only  good  action  he  ever  did  in  his  life  is 
the  involuntary  one  of  giving  an  example  to  be  avoided,  and 
showing  what  an  odious  thing  in  the  social  picture  is  that  figure 
of  the  debauched  old  man  who  passes  through  life  rather  a  decor- 
ous Silenus,  and  dies  some  day  in  his  garret,  alone,  unrepent- 
ing,  and  vmnoted,  save  by  his  astonished  heirs,  who  find  that 
the  dissolute  old  miser  has  left  money  behind  him.  See  !  he  is 
up  to  old  Carabas  already !     I  told  you  he  would. 

Yonder  you  see  the  old  Lady  Mary  MacScrew,  and  those 
middle-aged  young  women  her  daughters  ;  they  are  going  to 
cheapen  and  haggle  in  Belgium  and  up  the  Rhine  until  they 
meet  with  a  boarding-house  where  they  can  live  upon  less  board- 


SOM£  COh^TINENTAL  SNOBS. 


319 


wages  than  her  ladyship  pays  her  footmen.  But  she  will  exact 
and  receive  considerable  respect  from  the  British  Snobs  located 
in  the  watering-place  which  she  selects  for  her  summer  resi- 
dence, being  the  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Haggistoun.  That 
broad-shouldered  buck,  with  the  great  whiskers  and  the  cleaned 
white  kid-gloves,  is  Mr.  Phelim  Clancy  of  Poldoodystown  :  he 
calls  himself  Mr.  De  Clancy;  he  endeavors  to  disguise  his  na- 
tive brogue  with  the  richest  superposition  of  English  ;  and  if 
you  play  at  billiards  or  ccarte  v;'\l\\  him,  the  chances  are  that  you 
will  win  the  first  game,  and  he  the  seven  or  eight  games  ensuing. 

That  overgrown  lady  with  the  four  daughters,  and  the  young 
dandy  from  the  University,  her  son,  is  Mrs.  Kewsy,  the  emi- 
nent barrister's  lady,  who  would  rather  die  than  not  be  in  the 
fashion.  She  has  the  "  Peerage  "  in  her  carpet-bag,  you  may 
be  sure  ;  but  she  is  altogether  cut  out  by  Mrs.  Quod,  the  at- 
torney's wife,  whose  carriage,  with  the  apparatus  of  rumbles, 
dickeys,  and  imperials,  scarcely  yields  in  splendor  to  the  Mar- 
quis of  Carabas's  own  travelling-chariot,  and  whose  courier  has 
even  bigger  whiskers  and  a  larger  morocco  money-bag  than  the 
Marquis's  own  travelling  gentleman.  Remark  her  well  :  she  is 
talking  to  Mr.  Spout,  the  new  Member  for  Jawborough,  who  is 
going  out  to  inspect  the  operations  of  the  Zollverein,  and  will 
put  some  very  severe  questions  to  Lord  Palmerston  next  ses- 
sion upon  England  and  her  relations  with  the  Prussian-blue 
trade,  the  Naples-soap  trade,  the  German-tinder  trade,  &c. 
Spout  will  patronize  King  Leopold  at  Brussels  ;  will  write  let- 
ters from  abroad  to  the  yazvlw rough  Independetit ;  and  in  his 
quality  of  Me7nber  du  Parliatnong  Britarmiqiie,  Yi'iW  expect  to 
be  invited  to  a  family  dinner  with  every  sovereign  whose  do- 
minions he  honors  with  a  visit  during  his  tour. 

The  next  person  is but  hark  !  the  bell  for  shore  is  ring 

ing,  and,  shaking  Snooks's  hand  cordially,  we  rush  on  to  the 
pier,  waving  him  a  farewell  as  the  noble  black  ship  cuts  keenly 
_  through  the  sunny  azure  waters,  bearing  away  that  cargo  of 
Snobs  outward  bound. 


52 o  THE  BOOK  OF  SWOBS. 

CHAPTER  XXII 

CONTINENTAL  SNOBBERY  CONTINUED. 

We  are  accustomed  to  laugh  at  the  French  for  their  brag- 
gadocio propensities,  and  intolerable  vanity  about  la  France, 
la  gloire,  I'Empereur,  and  the  like  ;  and  yet  I  think  in  my  heart 
that  the  British  Snob,  for  conceit  and  self-sufficiency  and  brag- 
gartism  in  his  way,  is  without  a  parallel.  There  is  always 
something  uneasy  in  a  Frenchman's  conceit.  He  brags  with 
so  much  fury,  shrieking,  and  gesticulation  ;  yells  out  so  loudly 
that  the  Fran^ais  is  at  the  head  of  civilization,  the  centre  of 
thought,  &c.  ;  that  one  can't  but  see  the  poor  fellow  has  a  lurk- 
ing doubt  in  his  own  mind  that  he  is  not  the  wonder  he  pro- 
fesses to  be. 

About  the  British  Snobs,  on  the  contrary,  there  is  commonly 
no  noise,  no  bluster,  but  the  calmness  of  profound  conviction. 
We  are  better  than  all  the  world  ;  we  don't  question  the 
opinion  at  all ;  it's  an  axiom.  And  when  a  Frenchman  bellows 
out,  "  Za  France,  Monsieur,  la  France  est  a  tete  du  monde  civilise  I " 
we  laugh  good-naturedly  at  the  frantic  poor  devil.  IVe  are  the 
first  chop  of  the  world  :  we  know  the  fact  so  well  in  our  secret 
hearts  that  a  claim  set  up  elsewhere  is  simply  ludicrous.  My 
dear  brother  reader,  say,  as  a  man  of  honor,  if  you  are  not  of 
this  opinion  ?  Do  you  think  a  Frenchman  your  equal  ?  You 
don't  —  you  gallant  British  Snob — you  know  you  don't:  no 
more,  perhaps,  does  the  Snob  your  humble  servant,  brother. 

And  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  is  this  conviction,  and  the 
consequent  bearing  of  the  Englishman  towards  the  foreigner 
whom  he  condescends  to  visit,  this  confidence  of  superiority 
which  holds  up  the  head  of  the  owner  of  every  English  hat-box 
from  Sicily  to  St.  Petersburg,  that  makes  us  so  magnificentl)^ 
hated  throughout  Europe  as  we  are  ;  this — more  than  all  our 
little  victories,  and  of  which  many  Frenchmen  and  Spaniards 
have  never  heard — this  amazing  and  indomitable  insular  pride, 
which  animates  my  lord  in  his  travelling-carriage  as  well  as 
John  in  the  rumble. 

If  you  read  the  old  Chronicles  of  the  French  wars,  you  find 
precisely  the  same  character  of  the  Englishman,  and  Henry 
V.'s  people  behaved  with  just  the  cool  domineering  manner  of 
our  gallant  veterans  of  France   and  the  Peninsula.     Did  you 


CONTINENTAL  SNOBBERY  CONTINUED. 


321 


never  hear  Colonel  Cutler  and  Major  Slasher  talking  over  the 
war  after  dinner  ?  or  Captain  Boarder  describing  his  action 
with  the  "  Indomptable  ?  "  "  Hang  the  fellows,"  says  Boarder, 
"  their  practice  was  very  good.  I  was  beat  off  three  times  be- 
fore I  took  her."  "  Cuss  those  carabineers  of  Milhaud's," 
says  Slasher,  "what  work  they  made  of  our  light  cavalry!" 
implying  a  sort  of  surprise  that  the  Frenchman  should  stand 
up  against  Britons  at  all :  a  good-natured  wonder  that  the  blind, 
mad,  vain-glorious,  brave  poor  devils  should  actually  have  the 
courage  to  resist  an  Englishman.  Legions  of  such  Englishmen 
are  patronizing  Europe  at  this  moment,  being  kind  to  the  Pope, 
or  good-natured  to  the  King  of  Holland,  or  condescending  to 
inspect  the  Prussian  reviews.  When  Nicholas  came  here,  who 
reviews  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  pairs  of  mustaches  to  his  break- 
fast every  morning,  we  took  him  off  to  Windsor  and  showed  him 
two  whole  regiments  of  six  or  eight  hundred  Britons  apiece, 
with  an  air  as  much  as  to  say, — "  There,  my  boy,  look  at  that. 
Those  are  Englishmen,  those  are,  and  your  master  whenever 
you  please,"  as  the  nursery  song  says.  The  British  Snob  is 
long,  long  past  skepticism,  and  can  afford  to  laugh  quite  good-hu- 
moredly  at  those  conceited  Yankees,  or  besotted  little  French- 
men, who  set  up  as  models  of  mankind.      They  forsooth  ! 

I  have  been  led  into  these  remarks  by  listening  to  an  old 
fellow  at  the  Hotel  du  Nord,  at  Boulogne,  and  who  is  evidently 
of  the  Slasher  sort.  He  came  down  and  seated  himself  at  the 
breakfast-table,  with  a  surly  scowl  on  his  salmon-colored  blood- 
shot face,  strangling  in  a  tight,  cross-barred  cravat ;  his  linen 
and  his  appointments  so  perfectly  stiff  and  spotless  that  every- 
body at  once  recognized  him  as  a  dear  countryman.  Only  our 
wine  and  other  admirable  institutions  could  have  produced  a 
figure  so  insolent,  so  stupid,  so  gentlemanlike.  After  a  while 
our  attention  was  called  to  him  by  his  roaring  out,  in  a  voice 
of  plethoric  fury,   "  O  !  " 

Everybody  turned  round  at  the  "  O,"  conceiving  the  Colonel 
to  be,  as  his  countenance  denoted  him,  in  intense  pain  ;  but 
the  waiters  knew  better,  and  instead  of  being  alarmed,  brought 
the  Colonel  the  kettle.  "  O,"  it  appears,  is  the  French  for  hot- 
water.  The  Colonel  (though  he  despises  it  heartilv)  thinks  he 
speaks  the  language  remarkably  well.  Whilst  he  was  inhaust- 
ing  his  smoking  tea,  which  went  rolling  a/.d  gurgling  down  his 
throat,  and  hissing  over  the  "  hot  coppers  "  of  that  respect- 
able veteran,  a  friend  joined  him,  with  a  wizened  face  and  very 
black  wig,  evidently  a  Colonel  too. 

The  two  warriors,  waggling  their  old  heads  at  each  other, 


322 


THE   BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


presently  joined  breakfast,  and  fell  into  conversation,  and  we 
had  the  advantage  of  hearing  about  the  old  war,  and  some 
pleasant  conjectures  as  to  the  next,  which  they  considered  im- 
minent. They  psha'd  the  French  fleet  ;  they  pooh-pooh'd  the 
French  commercial  marine  ;  they  showed  how,  in  a  war,  there 

would  be  a  cordon  ("  a  cordong,  by "  )  of  steamers  along 

our  coast,  and  "  by ,"  ready  at  a  minute  to  land  anywhere 

on  the  other  shore,  to  give  the  French  as  good  a  thrashing  as 
they  got  in  the  last  war,  "by ."  In  fact,  a  rumbling  can- 
nonade of  oaths  was  fired  by  the  two  veterans  during  the  whole 
of  their  conversation. 

There  was  a  Frenchman  in  the  room,  but  as  he  had  not 
been  above  ten  years  in  London,  of  course  he  did  not  speak  the 
language,  and  lost  the  benefit  of  the  conversation.  "  But,  O 
my  country !  "  said  I  to  myself,  "  it's  no  wonder  that  you  are 
so  beloved  !     If  I  were  a  Frenchman,  how  I  would  hate  you  !  " 

That  brutal,  ignorant,  peevish  bully  of  an  Englishman  is 
showing  himself  in  every  city  of  Europe.  One  of  the  dullest 
creatures  under  heaven,  he  goes  trampling  Europe  under  foot, 
shouldering  his  way  into  galleries  and  cathedrals,  and  bustling 
into  palaces  with  his  buckram  uniform.  At  church  or  theatre, 
gala  or  picture-gallery,  his  face  never  varies.  A  thousand  de^ 
lightful  sights  pass  before  his  bloodshot  eyes,  and  don't  affect 
him.  Countless  brilliant  scenes  of  life  and  manners  are  shown 
him,  but  never  move  him.  He  goes  to  church,  and  calls  the 
practices  there  degrading  and  superstitious ;  as  if  his  altar  was 
the  only  one  that  was  acceptable.  He  goes  to  picture-galleries, 
and  is  more  ignorant  about  Art  than  a  French  shoeblack.  Art, 
Nature  pass,  and  there  is  no  clot  of  admiration  in  his  stupid 
eyes  ;  nothing  moves  him,  except  when  a  very  great  man  comes 
his  way,  and  then  the  rigid,  proud,  self-confident,  inflexible 
British  Snob  can  be  as  humble  as  a  flunkey  and  as  supple  as  a 
harlequin. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ENGLISH    SXOBS    ON    THE    CONTINENT. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  Lord  Rosse's  telescope  ?  "  my  friend 
Panwiski  exclaimed  the  other  day.  "  It  only  enables  you  to  see 
a  few  hundred  thousands  of  miles  farther.  What  were  thought 
to  be  mere  nebulze,   turn  out  to  be  most  perceivable  starry 


ENGLISH  SNOBS  ON  THE  CONTINENT.  323 

systems ;  and  beyond  these,  you  see  other  nebulce,  which  a 
more  powerful  glass  will  show  to  be  stars,  again  ;  and  so  they 
go  on  glittering  and  winking  away  into  eternity."  With  which 
my  friend  Pan,  heaving  a  great  sigh,  as  if  confessing  his  in- 
ability to  look  Infinity  in  the  face,  sank  back  resigned,  and 
swallowed  a  large  bumper  of  claret. 

I  (who,  like  other  great  men,  have  but  one  idea,)  thought 
to  myself,  that  as  the  stars  are,  so  are  the  Snobs  : — the  mce 
you  gaze  upon  those  luminaries,  the  more  you  behold — now 
nebulously  congregated  —  now  faintly  distinguishable  —  now 
brightly  defined — until  they  twinkle  off  in  endless  blazes,  and 
fade  into  the  immeasurable  darkness.  I  am  but  as  a  child 
playing  on  the  sea-shore.  Some  telescopic  philosopher  will 
arise  one  day,  some  great  Snobonomer,  to  find  the  laws  of  the 
great  science  which  we  are  now  merely  playing  with,  and  to  de- 
fine, and  settle,  and  classify  that  which  is  at  present  but  vague 
theory,  and  loose  though  elegant  assertion. 

Yes  :  a  single  eye  can  but  trace  a  very  few  and  simple 
varieties  of  the  enormous  universe  of  Snobs.  I  sometimes 
think  of  appealing  to  the  public,  and  calling  together  a  congress 
of  savajis,  such  as  met  at  Southampton — each  to  bring  his  con- 
tributions and  read  his  paper  on  the  Great  Subject.  For  what 
can  a  single  poor  few  do,  even  with  the  subject  at  present  in 
hand  ?  English  Snobs  on  the  Continent — though  they  are  a 
hundred  thousand  times  less  numerous  than  on  their  native 
island,  yet  even  these  few  are  too  many.  One  can  only  fix  a 
stray  one  here  and  there.  The  individuals  are  caught — the 
thousands  escape.  I  have  noted  down  but  three  whom  I  have 
met  with  in  my  walk  this  morning  through  this  pleasant  marine 
city  of  Boulogne. 

There  is  the  English  Raff  Snob,  that  frequents  estaminets 
and  cabarets ;  who  is  heard  yelling,  "  We  won't  go  home  till 
morning  !  "  and  startling  the  midnight  echoes  of  quiet  Con- 
tinental towns  with  shrieks  of  English  slang.  The  boozy  un- 
shorn wretch  is  seen  hovering  round  quays  as  packets  arrive, 
and  tippling  drams  in  inn  bars  where  he  gets  credit.  He  talks 
French  with  slang  familiarity  :  he  and  his  like  quite  people  the 
debt-prisons  on  the  Continent.  He  plays  pool  at  the  billiard- 
houses,  and  may  be  seen  engaged  at  cards  and  dominoes  of 
forenoons.  His  signature  is  to  be  seen  on  countless  bills  of 
exchange  :  it  belonged  to  an  honorable  family  once,  very  likely  ; 
for  the  English  Raff  most  probably  began  by  being  a  gentle- 
man, and  has  a  father  over  the  water  who  is  ashamed  to  hear 
his  name.     He  has  cheated  the  old  "governor  "  repeatedly  in 


324 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


better  clays,  and  swindled  his  sisters  of  their  portions,  and 
robbed  his  younger  brothers.  Now  he  is  living  on  his  wife's 
jointure  :  she  is  hidden  away  in  some  dismal  garret,  patching 
shabby  finery  and  cobbling  up  old  clothes  for  her  children — 
the  most  miserable  and  slatternly  of  women. 

Or  sometimes  the  poor  woman  and  her  daughters  go  about 
timidly,  giving  lessons  in  English  and  music,  or  do  embroidery 
and  work  under-hand,  to  purchase  the  means  for  the  pot-aii-feu  ; 
while  Raff  is  swaggering  on  the  quay,  or  tossing  off  glasses  of 
cognac  at  the  cafe.  The  unfortunate  creature  has  a  child  still 
every  year,  and  her  constant  hypocrisy  is  to  try  and  make  her 
girls  believe  that  their  father  is  a  respectable  man,  and  to 
huddle  him  out  of  the  way  when  the  brute  comes  home  drunk. 

Those  poor  ruined  souls  get  together  and  have  a  society 
of  their  own,  the  which  it  is  very  affecting  to  watch — those 
tawdry  pretences  at  gentility,  those  flimsy  attempts  at  gayety : 
those  woful  sallies  :  that  jingling  old  piano';  oh,  it  makes  the 
heart  sick  to  see  and  hear  them.  As  Mrs.  Raff,  with  her  com- 
pany of  pale  daughters,  gives  a  penny  tea  to  Mrs.  Diddler,  they 
talk  about  by-gone  times  and  the  fine  society  they  kept ;  and 
they  sing  feeble  songs  out  of  tattered  old  music-books  ;  and 
while  engaged  in  this  sort  of  entertainment,  in  comes  Captain 
Raff  with  his  greasy  hat  on  one  side,  and  straightway  the  whole 
of  the  dismal  room  reeks  with  a  mingled  odor  of  smoke  and 
spirits. 

Has  not  everybody  who  has  lived  abroad  met  Captain  Raff? 
His  name  is  proclaimed,  every  now  and  then,  by  Mr.  Sheriff's 
Officer  Hemp ;  and  about  Boulogne,  and  Paris,  and  Brussels, 
there  are  so  many  of  his  sort  that  I  will  lay  a  wager  that  I  shall 
be  accused  of  gross  personality  for  showing  him  up.  Many  a 
less  irreclaimable  villain  is  transported  ;  many  a  more  honorable 
man  is  at  present  at  the  treadmill ;  and  although  we  are  the 
noblest,  greatest,  most  religious,  and  most  moral  people  in  the 
world,  I  would  still  like  to  know  where,  except  in  the  United 
Kingdom,  debts  are  a  matter  of  joke,  and  making  tradesmen 
"  suffer  "  a  sport  that  gentlemen  own  to  .?  It  is  dishonorable 
to  owe  money  in  France.  You  never  hear  people  in  other  parts 
of  Europe  brag  of  their  swindling  ;  or  see  a  prison  in  a  large 
Continental  town  which  is  not  more  or  less  peopled  with  Eng- 
lish rogues. 

A  still  more  loathsome  and  dangerous  Snob  than  the  above 
transparent  and  passive  scamp,  is  frequent  on  the  continent  of 
Europe,  and  my  young  Snob  friends  who  are  travelling  thither 
should  be  especially  warned  against  him.     Captain  Legg  is  a 


EiVGLISH  SNOBS  ON  THE  CONTINENT. 


325 


gentleman,  like  Raff,  though  perhaps  of  a  better  degree.  He 
has  robbed  his  family  too,  but  of  a  great  deal  more,  and  has 
boldly  dishonored  bills  for  thousands,  where  Raff  has  been 
boggling  over  the  clumsy  conveyance  of  a  ten-pound  note. 
Legg  is  always  at  the  best  inn,  with  the  finest  waistcoats  and 
mustaches,  or  tearing  about  in  the  flashiest  of  britzkas,  while 
poor  Raff  is  tipsifying  himself  with  spirits,  and  smoking  cheap 
tobacco.  It  is  amazing  to  think  that  Legg,  so  often  shown  upt, 
and  known  everywhere,  is  flourishing  yet.  He  would  sink  into 
utter  ruin,  but  for  the  constant  and  ardent  love  of  gentility  that 
distinguishes  the  English  Snob.  There  is  many  a  young  fellow 
of  the  middle  classes  who  must  know  Legg  to  be  a  rogue  and  a 
cheat  ;  and  yet  from  his  desire  to  be  in  the  fashion,  and  his 
admiration  of  tip-top  swells,  and  from  his  ambition  to  air  him- 
self by  the  side  of  a  Lord's  son,  will  let  Legg  make  an  income 
out  of  him  ;  content  to  pay,  so  long  as  he  can  enioy  that 
society.  Many  a  worthy  father  of  a  family,  when  he  hears  that 
his  son  is  riding  about  with  Captain  Legg,  Lord  Levant's  son, 
is  rather  pleased  that  young  Hopeful  should  be  in  such  good 
company, 

Legg  and  his  friend,  Major  Macer,  make  professional  tours 
through  Europe,  and  are  to  be  found  at  the  right  places  at  the 
right  time.  Last  year  I  heard  how  my  young  acquaintance, 
Mr.  Muff,  from  Oxford,  going  to  see  a  little  life  at  a  Carnival 
ball  at   Paris,  was  accosted  by  an   Englishman  who  did  not 

know  a  word  of  the  d language,  and  hearing  Muff  speak  it 

so  admirably,  begged  him  to  interpret  to  a  waiter  with  whom 
there  was  a  dispute  about  refreshments.  It  was  quite  a  com- 
fort, the  stranger  said,  to  see  an  honest  English  face ;  and  did 
Muff  know  where  there  was  a  good  place  for  supper  ?  So  those 
two  went  to  supper,  and  who  should  come  in,  of  all  men  in  the 
world,  but  Major  Macer?  And  so  Legg  introduced  Macer, 
and  so  there  came  on  a  little  intimacy,  and  three-card  loo, 
&c.,  &c.  Year  after  year  scores  of  Muffs,  in  various  places 
of  the  world,  are  victimized  by  Legg  and  Macer.  The  story  is 
so  stale,  the  trick  of  seduction  so  entirely  old  and  clumsy, 
that  it  is  only  a  wonder  people  can  be  taken  in  any  more  : 
but  the  temptations  of  vice  and  gentility  together  are  too 
much  for  young  English  Snobs,  and  those  simple  young  vic- 
tims are  caught  fresh  every  day.  Though  it  is  only  to  be 
kicked  and  cheated  by  men  of  fashion,  your  true  British  Snob 
will  present  himself  for  the  honor. 

I  need  not  allude  here  to  that  very  common  British  Snob, 
who  makes  desperate  efforts  at  becoming  intimate  with  the 


326  THE  BOOK  OF  SXOBS. 

great  Continental  aristocracy,  such  as  old  Rolls,  tl.c  baker, 
who  has  set  up  his  quarters  in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain, 
and  will  receive  none  but  Carlists,  and  no  French  gentleman 
under  the  rank  of  a  Marquis.  We  can  all  of  us  laugh  at  that 
fellow's  pretensions  well  enough — we  who  tremble  before  a 
great  man  of  our  own  nation.  But,  as  you  say,  my  brave  and 
honest  John  Bull  of  a  Snob,  a  French  Marquis  of  twenty  de- 
scents is  very  different  from  an  English  Peer  ;  and  a  pack  of 
beggarly  German  and  Italian  Fuersten  and  Principi  awaken 
the  scorn  of  an  honest-minded  Briton.  But  our  aristocracy  ! — ■ 
that's  a  very  different  matter.  They  are  the  real  leaders  of 
the  world — the  real  old  original  and-no-mistake  nobility.  Off 
with  your  cap,  Snob  ;  down  on  your  knees.  Snob,  and  truckle. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

ON    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS. 


Tired  of  the  town,  where  the  sight  of  the  closed  shutters 
of  the  nobility,  my  friends,  makes  my  heart  sick  in  my  walks  \ 
afraid  almost  to  sit  in  those  vast  Pall  Mall  solitudes,  the  Clubs, 
and  of  annoying  the  Club  waiters,  who  might,  I  thought,  be 
going  to  shoot  in  the  country,  but  for  me,  I  determined  on  a 
brief  tour  in  the  provinces,  and  paying  some  visits  in  the  coun- 
try which  were  long  due. 

My  first  visit  was  to  my  friend  Major  Ponto  (H.  P.  of  the 
Horse  Marines),  in  Mangelwurzelshire.  The  Major,  in  his 
little  phaeton,  was  in  waiting  to  take  me  up  at  the  station. 
The  vehicle  was  not  certainly  splendid,  but  such  a  carriage  as 
would  accommodate  a  plain  man  (as  Ponto  said  he  was)  and  a 
numerous  family.  We  drove  by  beautiful  fresh  fields  and  green 
hedges,  through  a  cheerful  English  landscape ;  the  high-road, 
as  smooth  and  trim  as  the  way  in  a  nobleman's  park,  was 
charmingly  checkered  with  cool  shade  and  golden  sunshine. 
Rustics  in  snowy  smock-frocks  jerked  their  hats  off  smiling  as 
we  passed.  Children,  with  cheeks  as  red  as  the  apples  in  the 
orchards,  bobbed  curtseys  to  us  at  the  cottage  doors.  Blue 
church  spires  rose  here  and  there  in  the  distance  :  and  as  the 
buxom  gardener's  wife  opened  the  white  gate  at  the  Major's 
little  ivy-covered  lodge,  and  we  drove  through  the  neat  planta- 


ON  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 


327 


tions  of  firs  and  evergreens,  up  to  the  house,  my  bosom  felt 
a  joy  and  elation  which  I  thought  it  was  impossible  to  experi- 
ence in  the  smoky  atmosphere  of  a  town,  "  Here,"  I  mentally 
exclaimed,  "  is  all  peace,  plenty,  happiness.  Here,  I  shall  be 
rid  of  Snobs.  There  can  be  none  in  this  charming  Arcadian 
spot." 

Stripes,  the  Major's  man  (formerly  corporal  in  his  gallant 
corps),  received  my  portmanteau,  and  an  elegant  little  present, 
which  I  had  brought  from  town  as  a  peace-offering  to  Mrs. 
Ponto  ;  viz. :  a  cod  and  oysters  from  Grove's,  in  a  hamper  about 
the  size  of  a  coffin. 

Ponto's  house  ("  The  Evergreens  "  Mrs.  P.  has  christened 
it)  is  a  perfect  Paradise  of  a  place.  It  is  all  over  creepers,  and 
bow-windows,  and  verandas.  A  wavy  lawn  tumbles  up  and 
down  all  round  it,  with  flower-beds  of  wonderful  shapes,  and 
zigzag  gravel  walks,  and  beautiful  but  damp  shrubberies,  of 
myrtles  and  glistening  laurentines,  which  have  procured  it  its 
change  of  name.  It  was  called  Little  Bullock's  Pound  in  old 
Doctor  Ponto's  time.  I  had  a  view  of  the  pretty  grounds,  and 
the  stables,  and  the  adjoining  village  and  church,  and  a  great 
park  beyond,  from  the  windows  of  the  bedroom  whither  Ponto 
conducted  me.  It  was  the  yellow  bedroom,  the  freshest  and 
pleasantest  of  bedchambers  ;  the  air  was  fragrant  with  a  large 
bouquet  that  was  placed  on  the  writing-table  ;  the  linen  was 
fragrant  with  the  lavender  in  which  it  had  been  laid  ;  the  chintz 
hangings  of  the  bed  and  the  big  sofa  were,  if  not  fragrant  with 
flowers,  at  least  painted  all  over  with  them  ;  the  pen-wiper  on 
the  table  was  the  imitation  of  a  double  dahlia  ;  and  there  was 
accommodation  for  my  watch  in  a  sunflower  on  the  mantel  piece. 
A  scarlet-leafed  creeper  came  curling  over  the  windows, 
through  which  the  setting  sun  was  pouring  a  flood  of  golden 
light.  It  was  all  flowers  and  freshness.  Oh,  how  unlike  those 
black  chimney-pots  in  St.  Alban's  Place,  London,  on  which 
these  weary  eyes  are  accustomed  to  look. 

"  It  must  be  all  happiness  here,  Ponto,"  said  I,  flinging 
myself  down  into  the  snug  bergere,  and  inhaling  such  a  de- 
licious draught  of  country  air  as  all  the  77iilleflice7-s  of  Mr.  At- 
kinson's shop  cannot  impart  to  any  the  most  expensive  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

"  Nice  place,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Ponto.  "  Quiet  and  unpre- 
tending. I  like  everything  quiet.  You've  not  brought  your 
valet  with  you  ?  Stripes  will  arrange  your  dressing  things  ; " 
and  that  functionary,  entering  at  the  same  time,  proceeded  to 
gut  my  portmanteau,  and  to  lay  out  the  black  kerseymeres, 


328  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

"the  rich  cut  velvet  Genoa  \vaistcoat,"  the  white  choker,  and 
other  poUte  articles  of  evening  costume,  with  great  gravity  and 
despatch.  •'  A  great  dinner-party,"  thinks  I  to  myself,  seeing 
these  preparations  (and  not,  perhaps,  displeased  at  the  idea 
that  some  of  the  best  people  in  the  neighborhood  were  coming 
to  see  me).  "  Hark,  there's  the  first  bell  ringing  !  "  said  Ponto, 
moving  away ;  and,  in  fact,  a  clamorous  harbinger  of  victuals 
began  clanging  from  the  stable  turret,  and  announced  the 
agreeable  fact  that  dinner  would  appear  in  half  an  hour.  "  If 
the  dinner  is  as  grand  as  the  dinner-bell,"  thought  I,  "  faith, 
I'm  in  good  quarters  !  "  and  had  leisure,  during  the  half-hour's 
interval,  not  only  to  advance  my  own  person  to  the  utmost 
polish  of  elegance  which  it  is  capable  of  receiving,  to  admire 
the  pedigree  of  the  Pontos  hanging  over  the  chimney,  and  the 
Ponto  crest  and  arms  emblazoned  on  the  wash-hand  basin  and 
jug,  but  to  make  a  thousand  reflections  on  the  happiness  of  a 
country  life — upon  the  innocent  friendliness  and  cordiality  of 
rustic  intercourse  ;  and  to  sigh  for  an  opportunity  of  retiring, 
like  Ponto,  to  my  own  fields,  to  my  own  vine  and  fig-tree,  with 
a  placens  uxor  in  my  domus,  and  a  half-score  of  sweet  young 
pledges  of  affection  sporting  round  my  paternal  knee. 

Clang  !  At  the  end  of  the  thirty  minutes,  dinner-bell  num- 
ber two  pealed  from  the  adjacent  turret.  I  hastened  down 
stairs,  expecting  to  find  a  score  of  healthy  country  folks  in  the 
drawing-room.  There  was  only  one  person  there  ;  a  tall  and 
Roman-nosed  lady,  glistering  over  with  bugles,  in  deep  mourn- 
ing. She  rose,  advanced  two  steps,  made  a  majestic  curtsey, 
during  which  all  the  bugles  in  her  awful  head-dress  began  to 
twiddle  and  quiver — and  then  said,  "  Mr.  Snob,  we  are  very 
happy  to  see  you  at  the  Evergreens,"  and  heaved  a  great  sigh. 

This,  then,  was  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  ;  to  whom  making  my 
very  best  bow,  I  replied,  that  I  was  very  proud  to  make  her 
acquaintance,  as  also  that  of  so  charming  a  place  as  the  Ever- 
greens. 

Another  sigh.  "  We  are  distantly  related,  Mr.  Snob,"  said 
she,  shaking  her  melancholy  head.  "  Poor  dear  Lord  Ruba- 
dub  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  I ;  not  knowing  what  the  deuce  Mrs.  Major 
Ponto  meant. 

"Major  Ponto  told  me  that  you  were  of  the  Leicestershire 
Snobs  :  a  very  old  family,  and  related  to  Lord  Snobbington, 
who  married  Laura  Rubadub,  who  is  a  cousin  of  mine,  as  was 
her  poor  dear  father,  for  whom  we  are  mourning.  What  a 
seizure  !  only  sixty-three,  and  apoplexy  quite  unknown   until 


A   VISIT  TO  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 


329 


now  in  our  family  !  In  life  we  are  in  death,  Mr.  Snob.  Does 
Lady  Snobbington  bear  the  deprivation  well  ?  " 

"Why,  really,  ma'am,  I — I  don't  know,"  I  replied,  more 
and  more  confused. 

As  she  was  speaking  I  heard  a  sort  of  doop,  by  which  well- 
known  sound  I  was  aware  that  somebody  was  opening  a  bottle 
of  wine,  and  Ponto  entered,  in  a  huge  white  neck-cloth,  and  a 
rather  shabby  black  suit. 

"  My  love,"  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  said  to  her  husband,  "  we 
were  talking  of  our  cousin — poor  dear  Lord  Rubadub.  His 
death  has  placed  some  of  the  first  families  in  England  in 
mourning.  Does  Lady  Rubadub  keep  the  house  in  Hill  Street, 
do  you  know  .'  " 

I  didn't  know,  but  I  said,  "I  believe  she  does,"  at  a  ven- 
ture ;  and,  looking  down  to  the  drawing-room  table,  saw  the 
inevitable,  abominable,  maniacal,  absurd,  disgusting  "  Peerage  ' 
open  on  the  table,  interleaved  with  annotations,  and  open  at 
the  article  "  Snobbington." 

"  Dinner  is  served,"  says  Stripes,  flinging  open  the  door  \ 
and  I  gave  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  my  arm. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A   VISIT   TO    SOME   COUNTRY   SNOBS. 

Of  the  dinner  to  which  we  now  sat  down,  I  am  not  going 
to  be  a  severe  critic.  The  mahogany  I  hold  to  be  inviolable  \ 
but  this  I  will  say,  that  I  prefer  sherry  to  Marsala  when  I  can 
get  it,  and  the  latter  was  the  wine  of  which  I  have  no  doubt  I 
heard  the  "cloop  "  just  before  dinner.  Nor  was  it  particularly 
good  of  its  kind ;  however,  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  did  not  evidently 
know  the  difference,  for  she  called  the  liquor  Amontillado 
during  the  whole  of  the  repast,  and  drank  but  half  a  glass  of  it, 
leaving  the  rest  for  the  Major  and  his  guest. 

Stripes  was  in  the  livery  of  the  Ponto  family — a  thought 
shabby,  but  gorgeous  in  the  extreme  —  lots  of  magnificent 
worsted  lace,  and  livery  buttons  of  a  very  notable  size.  The 
honest  fellow's  hands,  I  remarked,  were  very  large  and  black  ; 
and  a  fine  odor  of  the  stable  was  wafted  about  the  room  as  he 
moved  to  and  fro  in  his  ministration.     I  should  have  preferred 


33° 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS, 


a  clean  maid-servant,  but  the  sensations  of  Londoners  are  too 
acute  perhaps  on  these  subjects  ;  and  a  faithful  John,  after  all, 
is  more  genteel. 

From  the  circumstance  of  the  dinner  being  composed  of 
pig's-head  mock-turtle  soup,  of  pig's  fry  and  roast  ribs  of  pork, 
I  am  led  to  imagine  that  one  of  Ponto's  black  Hampshires  had 
been  sacrificed  a  short  time  previous  to  my  visit.  It  was  an 
excellent  and  comfortable  repast  ;  only  there  7cias  rather  a  same- 
ness in  it,  certainly.     I  made  a  similar  remark  the  next  day. 

During  the  dinner  Mrs.  Ponto  asked  me  many  questions 
regarding  the  nobility,  my  relatives.  "  When  Lady  Angelina 
Skeggs  would  come  out ;  and  if  the  countess  her  mamma  " 
(this  was  said  with  much  archness  and  he-he-ing)  "  still  wore 
that  extraordinary  purple  hair-dye  ?  "  "  Whether  my  Lord 
Guttlebury  kept,  besides  his  French  chef,  and  an  English  cor- 
don-bleu  for  the  roasts,  an  Italian  for  the  confectionery  ? " 
"  Who  attended  at  Lady  Clapperclaw's  conversazioni  ?  "  and 
"  whether  Sir  John  Champignon's  '  Thursday  Mornings  '  were 
pleasant  ?  "  "  Was  it  true  that  Lady  Carabas,  wanting  to  pawn 
her  diamonds,  found  that  they  were  paste,  and  that  the  Marquis 
had  disposed  of  them  beforehand  ?  "  "  How  was  it  that  Snufiin, 
the  great  tobacco  merchant,  broke  off  the  marriage  which  was 
on  the  tapis  between  him  and  their  second  daughter ;  and  was 
it  true  that  a  mulatto  lady  came  over  from  the  Havana  and 
forbade  the  match  .-'  " 

"  Upon  my  word,  Madam,"  I  had  begun,  and  was  going  on 
to  say  that  I  didn't  know  one  word  about  all  these  matters 
which  seemed  so  to  interest  Mrs.  Major  Ponto,  when  the  Major, 
giving  me  a  tread  or  stamp  with  his  large  foot  under  the  table, 
said — 

"  Come,  come.  Snob  my  boy,  we  are  all  tiled,  you  know. 
We  know  you're  one  of  the  fashionable  people  about  town  :  we 
saw  your  name  at  Lady  Clapperclaw's  soirees,  and  the  Cham- 
pignon breakfasts  ;  and  as  for  the  Rubadubs,  of  course,  as  rela- 
tions  ". 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  dine  there  twice  a  week,"  I  said;  and 
then  I  remembered  that  my  cousin,  Humphry  Snob,  of  the 
Middle  Temple,  is  a  great  frequenter  of  genteel  societies,  and 
to  have  seen  his  name  in  the  Morning  Post  at  the  tag-end  of 
.several  party  lists.  So,  taking  the  hint,  I  am  ashamed  to  say 
I  indulged  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  with  a  deal  of  information  about 
the  first  families  in  England,  such  as  would  astonish  those 
great  personages  if  they  knew  it.  I  described  to  her  most 
accurately  the   three  reigning  beauties  of  last  season   at  Al- 


A  rrsir  to  some  country  snob;?.  ^^x 

mack's  :  told  her  in  confidence  that  his  Grace  the  D of 

W was  going  to  be  married  the  day  after  his  Statue  was  put 

up  ;  that  his  Grace  the  D of  D was  also  about  to  lead 

the  fourth  daughter  of  the  Archduke  Stephen  to  the  hymeneal 
altar : — and  talked  to  her,  in  a  word,  just  in  the  style  of  Mrs. 
Gore's  last  fashionable  novel. 

Mrs.  Major  was  quite  fascinated  by  this  brilliant  conver- 
sation. .She  began  to  trot  out  scraps  of  French,  just  for  all 
the  world  as  they  do  in  the  novels ;  and  kissed  her  hand  to  me 
quite  graciously,  telling  me  to  come  soon  to  caffy,  img  pu  de 
Musick  0  salong — with  which  she  tripped  off  like  an  elderly 
fairy. 

"  Shall  I  open  a  bottle  of  port,  or  do  you  ever  drink  such  a 
thing  as  Hollands  and  water?"  says  Ponto,  looking  ruefully  at 
me.  This  was  a  very  different  style  of. thing  to  what  I  had 
been  led  to  expect  from  him  at  our  smoking-room  at  the  Club : 
where  he  swaggers  about  his  horses  and  his  cellar :  and  slap- 
ping me  on  the  shoulder  used  to  say,  "  Come  down  to  Mangel- 
wurzelshire,  Snob  my  boy,  and  I'll  give  you  as  good  a  day's 
shooting  and  as  good  a  glass  of  claret  as  any  in  the  county." — • 
"Well,"  I  said,  "I  liked  Hollands  much  better  than  port,  and 
gin  even  better  than  Hollands."  This  was  lucky.  It  was  gin  ; 
and  Stripes  brought  iij  hot  water  on  a  splendid  plated  tray. 

The  jingling  of  a  harp  and  piano  soon  announced  that  Mrs. 
Ponto's  ung pu  de  MusicJz  had  commenced,  and  the  smell  of  the 
stable  again  entering  the  dining-room,  in  the  person  of  Stripes, 
summoned  us  to  caffy  and  the  little  concert.  She  beckoned  me 
with  a  winning  smile  to  the  sofa,  on  which  she  made  room  for 
me,  and  where  we  could  connnand  a  fine  view  of  the  backs  of 
the  young  ladies  who  were  performing  the  musical  entertain- 
ment. Very  broad  backs  they  were  too,  strictly  according  to 
the  present  mode,  for  crinoline  or  its  substitutes  is  not  an 
expensive  luxury,  and  young  people  in  the  country  can  afford 
to  be  in  the  fashion  at  very  trifling  charges.  Miss  Emily  Ponto 
at  the  piano,  and  her  sister  Maria  at  that  somewhat  exploded 
instrument,  the  harp,  were  in  light-blue  dresses  that  looked  all 
flounce,  and  spread  out  like  Mr.  Green's  balloon  when  inflated. 

"  Brilliant  touch  Emily  has — what  a  fine  arm  Maria's  is," 
Mrs.  Ponto  remarked  good-naturedly,  pointing  out  the  merits 
of  her  daughters,  and  waving  her  own  arm  in  such  a  way  as  to 
show  that  she  was  not  a  little  satisfied  with  the  beauty  of  that 
member.  I  observed  she  had  about  nine  bracelets  and  bangles, 
consisting  of  chains  and  padlocks,  the  Major's  miniature,  and 
a  variety  of  brass  serpents  with  fiery  ruby  or  tender  turquoise 


332 


THE  BOOK'  OF  SNOBS. 


eyes,  writhing  up  to  her  elbow  almost,  in  the  most  profuse  con- 
tortions. 

"  You  recognize  those  polkas  ?  They  were  played  at  Dev' 
onshire  House  on  the  23d  of  July,  the  day  of  the  grand 
fete."  So  I  said  yes — I  knew  'em  quite  intimately  ;  and  began 
wagging  my  head  as  if  in  acknowledgement  of  those  old  friends. 

When  the  performance  was  concluded,  I  had  the  felicity  of 
a  presentation  and  conversation  with  the  two  tall  and  scraggy 
Miss  Pontes  ;  and  Miss  Wirt,  the  governess,  sat  down  to  en- 
tertain us  with  variations  on  "  Sich  a  gettin'  up  Stairs."  They 
were  determined  to  be  in  the  fashion. 

For  the  performance  of  the  "Gettin'  up  Stairs,"  I  have 
no  other  name  but  that  it  was  a  stunner.  First  Miss  Wirt, 
with  great  deliberation,  played  the  original  and  beautiful  melody, 
cutting  it,  as  it  were,  out  of  the  instrument,  and  firing  off  each 
note  so  loud,  clear,  and  sharp,  that  I  am  sure  Stripes  must  have 
heard  it  in  the  stable. 

"What  a  finger!"  says  Mrs.  Ponto  ;  and  indeed  it  7£/^j  a 
a  finger,  as  knotted  as  a  turkey's  drumstick,  and  splaying  all 
over  the  piano.  When  she  had  banged  out  the  tune  slowly,  she 
began  a  different  manner  of  "  Gettin'  up  Stairs,"  and  did  so 
with  a  fury  and  swiftness  quite  incredible.  She  spun  up  stairs  ; 
she  whirled  up  stairs  ;  she  galloped  up  stairs  ;  she  rattled  up 
stairs  ;  and  then  having  got  the  tune  to  the  top  landing,  as  it 
were,  she  hurled  it  down  again  shrieking  to  the  bottom  floor, 
where  it  sank  in  a  crash  as  if  exhausted  by  the  breathless  ra- 
pidity of  the  descent.  The  Miss  Wirt  played  the  "  Gettin'  up 
Stairs  "  with  the  most  pathetic  and  ravishing  solemnity  :  plain- 
tive moans  and  sobs  issued  from  the  keys — you  wept  and 
trembled  as  you  were  gettin'  up  stairs.  Miss  Wirt's  hands 
seemed  to  faint  and  wail  and  die  in  variations  :  again,  and  she 
went  up  with  a  savage  clang  and  rush  of  trumpets,  as  if  Miss 
Wirt  was  storming  a  breach  ;  and  although  I  knew  nothing  of 
music,  as  I  sat  and  listened  with  my  mouth  open  to  this  wonder- 
ful display,  my  caffy  grew  cold,  and  I  wondered  the  windows 
did  not  crack  and  the  chandelier  start  out  of  the  beam  at  the 
sound  of  this  earthquake  of  a  piece  of  music. 

"  Glorious  creature  !  Isn't  she  ? "  said  Mrs.  Ponto. 
"  Squirtz's  favorite  pupil — inestimable  to  have  such  a  creature. 
Lady  Carabas  would  give  her  eyes  for  her  !  A  prodigy  of 
accomplishments  !  Thank  you.  Miss  Wirt !  " — and  the  young 
ladies  gave  a  heave  and  a  gasp  of  admiration — a  deep-breath- 
tng  gushing  sound,  such  as  you  hear  at  church  when  the  sermon 
comes  to  a  full  stop. 


0?r  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS 


333 


Miss  Wirt  put  her  two  great  double-knucl^led  hands  round 
a  waist  of  her  two  pupils,  and  said,  "  My  dear  children,  I  hope 
you  will  be  able  to  play  it  soon  as  well  as  your  poor  little  gover- 
ness. When  I  lived  with  the  Dunsinanes,  it  was  the  dear 
Duchess's  favorite,  and  Lady  Barbara  and  Lady  Jane  McBeth 
learned  it.  It  was  while  hearing  Jane  play  that,  I  remember, 
that  dear  Lord  Castletoddy  first  fell  in  love  with  her  ;  and 
though  he  is  but  an  Irish  Peer,  with  not  more  than  fifteen 
thousand  a  year,  I  persuaded  Jane  to  have  him.  Do  you  know 
Castletoddy,  Mr.  Snob .'' — round  towers — sweet  place — County 
Mayo.  Old  Lord  Castletoddy  (the  present  Lord  was  then  Lord 
Inishowan)  was  a  most  eccentric  old  man — they  say  he  was  mad. 
I  heard  his  Royal  Highness  the  poor  dear  Duke  of  Sussex — 
{such  a  man,  my  dears,  but  alas  !  addicted  to  smoking !) — I 
heard  His  Royal  Highness  say  to  the  Marquis  of  Anglesea,  '  I 
am  sure  Castletoddy  is  mad  ! '  but  Inishowan  wasn't  in  marry- 
ing my  sweet  Jane,  though  the  dear  child  had  but  ten  thousand 
pounds /(?//r  tout  potage  '.  " 

"  Most  invaluable  person,"  whispered  Mrs.  Major  Ponto  to 
me.  "Has  lived  in  the  very  highest  society:"  and  I,  who 
have  been  accustomed  to  see  governesses  bullied  in  the  world, 
was  delighted  to  find  this  one  ruling  the  roast,  and  to  think 
that  even  the  majestic  Mrs.  Ponto  bent  before  her. 

As  for  my  pipe,  so  to  speak,  it  went  out  at  once.  I  hadn't 
a  word  to  say  against  a  woman  who  was  intimate  with  every 
Duchess  in  the  Red  Book.  She  wasn't  the  rosebud,  but  she 
had  been  near  it.  She  had  rubbed  shoulders  with  the  great, 
and  about  these  we  talked  all  the  evening  incessantly,  and 
about  the  fashions,  and  about  the  Court,  until  bedtime  came. 

"  And  are  there  Snobs  in  this  Elysium  ? "  I  exclaimed, 
jumping  into  the  lavender-perfumed  bed.  Ponto's  snoring 
boomed  from  the  neighboring  bedroom  in  reply. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

ON    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS. 


Something  like  a  journal  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Ever- 
greens may  be  interesting  to  those  foreign  readers  of  Punch 
who  want  to  know  the  customs  of  an   English  gentleman's 


334 


THE  BOOK  OF  SXOBS. 


family  and  household.  There's  plenty  of  time  to  keep  the 
Journal.  Piano-strumming  begins  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  it  lasts  till  breakfast,  with  but  a  minute's  intermission, 
when  the  instrument  changes  hands,  and  Miss  Emily  practises 
in  place  of  her  sister  Miss  Maria. 

In  fact,  the  confounded  instrument  never  stops  :  when  the 
young  ladies  are  at  their  lessons,  Miss  Wirt  hammers  away  at 
those  stunning  variations,  and  keejos  her  magnificent  finger  in 
exercise. 

I  asked  this  great  creature  in  what  other  branches  of  edu- 
cation she  instructed  her  pupils  ?  "  The  modern  languages," 
says  she  modestly  :  "  French,  German,  Spanish,  and  Italian, 
Latin  and  the  rudiments  of  Greek  if  desired.  English  of 
course  ;  the  practice  of  Elocution,  Geography,  and  Astronomy, 
and  the  Use  of  the  Globes,  Algebra  (but  only  as  far  as  quad- 
ratic equations) ;  for  a  poor  ignorant  female,  you  know,  Mr. 
Snob,  cannot  be  expected  to  know  everything.  Ancient  and 
Modern  History  no  young  woman  can  be  without ;  and  of  these 
I  make  my  beloved  pupils /^vytr/  mistresses.  Botany,  Geology, 
and  Mineralogy,  I  consider  as  amusements.  And  with  these 
I  assure  you  we  manage  to  pass  the  days  at  the  Evergreens  not 
unpleasantly." 

Only  these,  thought  I — what  an  education  !  But  I  looked 
in  one  of  Miss  Ponto's  manuscript  song-books  and  found  live 
faults  of  French  in  four  words  :  and  in  a  waggish  mood  asking 
Miss  Wirt  whether  Dante  Algiery  was  so  called  because  he 
was  born  at  Algiers,  received  a  smiling  answer  in  the  affirma- 
tive, which  made  me  rather  doubt  about  the  accuracy  of  Miss 
Wirt's  knowledge. 

When  the  above  little  morning  occupations  are  concluded, 
these  unfortunate  young  women  perform  what  they  call  Calis- 
thenic  Exercises  in  the  garden.  I  saw  them  to-da)-,  without 
any  crinoline,  pulling  the  garden-roller. 

Dear  Mrs.  Ponto  was  in  the  garden  too,  and  as  limp  as  her 
daughters  ;  in  a  faded  bandeau  of  hair,  in  a  battered  bonnet, 
in  a  holland  pinafore,  in  pattens,  on  a  broken  chair,  snipping 
leaves  off  a  vine.  Mrs.  Ponto  measures  many  yards  about  in 
an  evening.  Ye  heavens !  what  a  guy  she  is  in  that  skeleton 
morning  costume  ! 

Besides  Stripes,  they  keep  a  boy  called  Thomas  or  Tum- 
mus.  Tummus  works  in  the  garden  or  about  the  pigsty  and 
stable  ;  Thomas  wears  a  page's  costume  of  eruptive  buttons. 


OPT  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS 


335 


When  anybody  calls,  and  Stripes  is  out  of  the  way,  Turn- 
mas  flings  himself  like  mad  into  Thomas's  clothes,  and  comes 
out  metamorphosed  like  Harlequin  in  the  pantomime.  To-day, 
as  Mrs.  P.  was  cutting  the  grape-vine,  as  the  young  ladies  were 
at  the  roller,  down  comes  Tummus  like  a  roaring  whirlwind, 
with  "  Missus,  Missus,  there's  company  coomin' !  "  Away 
skurry  the  young  ladies  from  the  roller,  down  comes  Mrs.  P. 
from  the  old  chair,  off  flies  Tummus  to  change  his  clothes,  and 
in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  Sir  John  Hawbuck,  my 
Lady  Hawbuck,  and  Master  Hugh  Hawbuck  are  introduced 
into  the  garden  with  brazen  efifrontery  by  Thomas,  who  says, 
"Please  Sir  Jan  and  my  Lady  to  walk  this  year  way  :  /  kjiow 
Missus  is  in  the  rose-garden." 

And  there,  sure  enough,  she  was  ! 

In  a  pretty  little  garden  bonnet,  with  beautiful  curling  ring- 
lets, with  the  smartest  of  aprons  and  the  freshest  of  pearl- 
colored  gloves,  this  amazing  woman  was  in  the  arms  of  her 
dearest  Lady  Hawbuck.  "  Dearest  Lady  Hawbuck,  how  good 
of  you  !  Always  among  my  flowers  !  can't  live  away  from 
them !  " 

"  Sweets  to  the  sweet !  hum — a-ha — haw !  "  says  Sir  John 
Hawbuck,  who  piques  himself  on  his  gallantry,  and  says  noth- 
ing without  "  a-hum — a-ha — a-haw  !  " 

"  Whereth  yaw  pinnafaw  ?  "  cries  Master  Hugh.  "  We  thaw 
you  in  it,  over  the  wall,  didn't  we,  Pa  ?  " 

"Hum  —  a-ha  —  a-haw!"  burst  out  Sir  John,  dreadfully 
alarmed.  "Where's  Ponto  ?  Why  wasn't  he  at  Quarter  Ses- 
sions .''  How  are  his  birds  this  year,  Mrs.  Ponto — have  those 
Carabas  pheasants  done  any  harm  to  your  wheat  ?  a-hum — a- 
ha — a-haw  !  "  and  all  this  while  he  was  making  the  most  fero- 
cious and  desperate  signals  to  his  youthful  heir. 

"  Well,  she  waih  in  her  pinnafaw,  wathn't  she.  Ma  ?  "  says 
Hugh,  quite  unabashed  ;  which  question  Lady  Hawbuck  turned 
away  with  a  sudden  query  regarding  her  dear  darling  daugh- 
ters, and  the  enfant  terrible  was  removed  by  his  father. 

"  I  hope  you  weren't  disturbed  by  the  music  ?  "  Ponto  says. 
"  My  girls,  you  know,  practise  four  hours  a  day,  you  know — 
must  do  it,  you  know — absolutely  necessary.  As  for  me,  you 
know  I'm  an  early  man,  and  in  my  farm  every  morning  at  five 
— no,  no  laziness  for  ;«^." 

The  facts  are  these.  Ponto  goes  to  sleep  directly  after  din- 
ner on  entering  the  drawing-room,  and  wakes  up  when  the 
ladies  leave  off  practice  at  ten.     From   seven  till  ten,  and  from 


336  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

ten  till  five,  is  a  very  fair  allowance  of  slumber  for  a  man  who 
says  he's  7iot  a  lazy  man.  It  is  my  private  opinion  that  when 
Ponto  retires  to  what  is  called  his  "  Study,"  he  sleeps  too. 
He  locks  himself  up  there  daily  two  hours  with  the  news- 
paper. 

I  saw  the  Zr^Z£/^//rZ' scene  out  of  the  Study,  which  commands 
the  garden.  It's  a  curious  object,  that  Study.  Ponto's  library 
mostly  consists  of  boots.  He  and  Stripes  have  important  in- 
terviews here  of  mornings,  when  the  potatoes  are  discussed,  or 
the  fate  of  the  calf  ordained,  or  sentence  passed  on  the  pig,  &c. 
All  the  Major's  bills  are  docketed  on  the  Study  tables  and  dis- 
played like  lawyer's  briefs.  Here,  too,  lie  displayed  his  hooks, 
knives,  and  other  gardening  irons,  his  whistles,  and  strings  of 
spare  buttons.  He  has  a  drawer  of  endless  brown  paper  for 
parcels,  and  another  containing  a  prodigious  and  never-failing 
supply  of  string.  What  a  man  can  want  with  so  many  gig- 
whips  I  can  never  conceive.  These,  and  fishing-rods,  and 
landing-nets,  and  spurs,  and  boot-trees,  and  balls  for  horses, 
and  surgical  implements  for  the  same,  and  favorite  pots  of 
shiny  blacking,  with  which  he  paints  his  own  shoes  in  the  most 
elegant  manner,  and  buckskin  gloves  stretched  out  on  their 
trees,  and  his  gorget,  sash,  and  sabre  of  the  Horse  Marines, 
with  his  boot-hooks  underneath  in  a  trophy  ;  and  the  family 
medicine-chest,  and  in  a  corner  the  very  rod  with  which  he  used 
to  whip  his  son,  Wellesley  Ponto,  when  a  boy  (Wellesley  never 
entered  the  "  Study  "  but  for  that  awful  purpose) — all  these, 
with  "  Mogg's  Road  Book,"  the  Gardeners'  C/ironick,  and  a 
backgammon-board,  form  the  Major's  library.  Under  the 
trophy  there's  a  picture  of  Mrs.  Ponto,  in  a  light-blue  dress 
a;::l  train,  and  no  waist,  when  she  was  first  married;  a  fox's 
brush  lies  over  the  frame,  and  serves  to  keep  the  dust  off  that 
work  of  art. 

"  My  library's  small,"  says  Ponto,  with  the  most  amazing 
impudence,  "but  well  selected,  my  boy — well  selected.  I  have 
been  reading  the  '  History  of  England  '  all  the  morning." 


A'  riSIT  TO  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 


337 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A   VISIT    TO    SOME    COUNTRY   SNOBS. 

We  had  the  fish,  which,  as  the  kind  reader  may  remember, 
I  had  brought  down  in  a  delicate  attention  to  Mrs.  Ponto  to 
variegate  the  repast  of  next  day  ;  and  cod  and  oyster-sauce, 
twice  laid,  salt  cod  and  scolloped  oysters,  formed  parts  of  the 
bill  of  fare  until  I  began  to  fancy  that  the  Ponto  family,  like 
our  late  revered  monarch  George  II.,  had  a  fancy  for  stale  fish. 
And  about  this  time,  the  pig  being  consumed,  we  began  upon 
a  sheep. 

But  how  shall  I  forget  the  solemn  splendor  of  a  second 
course,  which  was  served  up  in  great  state  by  Stripes  in  a  silver 
dish  and  cover,  a  napkin  twisted  round  his  dirty  thumbs ;  and 
consisted  of  a  landrail,  not  much  bigger  than  a  corpulent 
sparrow. 

"  My  love,  will  you  take  any  game .'' "  says  Ponto,  with  pro- 
digious gravity ;  and  stuck  his  fork  into  that  little  mouthful  of 
an  island  in  the  silver  sea.  Stripes,  too,  at  intervals,  dribbled 
out  the  Marsala  with  a  solemnity  which  would  have  done  honor 
to  a  Duke's  butler.  The  Barmecide's  dinner  to  Shacabac  was 
only  one  degree  removed  from  these  solemn  banquets. 

As  there  were  plenty  of  pretty  country  places  close  by  ;  a 
comfortable  country  town,  with  good  houses  of  gentlefolks  ;  a 
beautiful  old  parsonage,  close  to  the  church  whither  we  went 
(and  where  the  Carabas  family  have  their  ancestral  carved  and 
monumented  Gothic  pew),  and  every  appearance  of  good 
society  in  the  neighborhood,  I  rather  wondered  we  were  not 
enlivened  by  the  appearance  of  some  of  the  neighbors  at  the 
Evergreens,  and  asked  about  them. 

"  We  can't  in  our  position  of  life — we  can't  well  associate 
with  the  attorney's  family,  as  I  leave  you  to  suppose,"  said  Mrs. 
Ponto,  confidentially.  "  Of  course  not,"  I  answered,  though  I 
didn't  know  why.     "  And  the  Doctor  ?  "  said  I. 

"  A  most  excellent  worthy  creature,"  says  Mrs.  P.  ;  "  saved 
Maria's  life — really  a  learned  man  ;  but  what  can  one  do  in 
one's  position  ?  One  may  ask  one's  medical  man  to  one's  table 
certainly  :  but  his  family,  my  dear  Mrs.  Snob  !  " 

"  Half  a  dozen  little  gallipots,"  interposed  Miss  Wirt,  the 


338  Tf<E  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

governess:  "he,   he,   he!"   and  the  young  ladies  laughed  in 
chorus. 

"  We  only  live  with  the  county  families,"  Miss  Wirt*  con- 
tinued, tossing  up  her  head.  "The  Duke  is  abroad  :  we  arc  at 
feud  with  the  Carabases  ;  the  Ringwoods  don't  come  down  till 
Christmas  :  in  fact,  nobody's  here  till  the  huntinoj  season — pos- 
itively nobody." 

*  I  have  since  heard  that  this  aristocratic  lady's  father  was  a  livery-buttoii  maker  in  St. 
Martin's  Lane  :  where  he  met  with  misfortunes,  and  his  daughter  acquired  her  taste  fu( 
heraldry.  But  it  may  be  told  to  her  credit,  that  out  of  her  earnings  she  has  kept  the  bed- 
ridden old  bankrupt  in  great  comfort  and  secresy  at  Pentonville  ;  and  furnished  her 
brother's  outfit  for  the  Cadetship  which  her  patron,  Lord  Swigglebiggle,  gave  her  when  he 
was  at  the  Board  of  Control.  I  have  this  information  from  a  friend.  To  hear  IMiss  Wirt 
herself,  you  would  fancy  that  her  Papa  was  a  Rothschild,  and  that  the  markets  of  Europe 
were  convulsed  when  he  went  into  the  Gazette. 

"Whose  is  the  large  red  house  just  outside  of  the  town  ?  " 

"  What  !  the  chdteaii-calicot  ?  he,  he,  he  !  That  purse-proud 
ex-linendraper,  Mr.  Yardley,  with  the  yellow  liveries,  and  the 
wife  in  red  velvet  ?  How  can  you,  my  dear  Mr.  Snob,  be  so 
satirical  ?  The  impertinence  of  those  people  is  really  some- 
thing quite  overwhelming." 

"  Well,  then,  there  is  the  parson,  Doctor  Chrysostom.  He's 
a  gentleman,  at  any  rate." 

At  this  Mrs.  Ponto  looked  at  Miss  Wirt.  After  their  eyes  had 
met  and  they  had  wagged  their  heads  at  each  other,  they  looked 
up  to  the  ceiling.  So  did  the  young  ladies.  They  thrilled.  It 
was  evident  I  had  said  something  very  terrible.  Another  black 
sheep  in  the  Church  ?  thought  I,  with  a  little  sorrow ;  for  I 
don't  care  to  own  that  I  have  a  respect  for  the  cloth.  "  I — I 
hope  there's  nothing  wrong  ?  " 

"Wrong?  "  says  Mrs.  P.,  clasping  her  hands  with  a  tragic 
air. 

"  Oh  !  "  says  Miss  Wirt,  and  the  two  girls,  gasping  in  chorus. 

"Well,"  says  I,  "I'm  very  sorry  for  it.  I  never  saw  a 
nicer-looking  old  gentleman,  or  a  better  school,  or  heard  a  bet- 
ter sermon." 

"  He  used  to  preach  those  sermons  in  a  surplice,"  hissed 
out  Mrs.  Ponto.     "  He's  a  Puseyite,  Mr.  Snob." 

"  Heavenly  powers  !  "  says  I,  admiring  the  pure  ardor  of 
these  female  theologians  ;  and  Stripes  came  in  with  the  tea. 
It's  so  weak  that  no  wonder  Ponto's  sleep  isn't  disturbed  by  it. 

Of  mornings  we  used  to  go  out  shooting.  We  had  Ponto's 
5wn  fields  to  sport  over  (where  we  got  the  fieldfare),  and  the 
non-preserved  part  of  the  Hawbuck  property :  and  one  evening 


ON-  ScrjTTTS'  ^y<OUNTRY  SNOBS.  335 

in  a  stubble  of  Ponto's  skirting  the  Carabas  woods,  we  got 
among  some  pheasants,  and  had  some  real  sport.  I  shot  a  hen, 
I  know,  greatly  to  my  delight.  "  Bag  it,"  says  Ponto,  in  rathei 
a  hurried  manner  :  "  here's  somebody  coming."  So  I  pocketed 
the  bird. 

"  You  infernal  poaching  thieves  !  "  roars  out  a  man  from  the 
hedge  in  the  garb  of  a  gamekeeper.  "  I  wish  I  could  catch 
you  on  this  side  of  the  hedge.  I'd  put  a  brace  of  barrels  into 
you,  that  I  would." 

"  Curse  that  Snapper,"  says  Ponto,  moving  off ;  "  he's 
always  watching  me  like  a  spy." 

"  Carry  off  the  birds,  you  sneaks,  and  sell  'em  in  London," 
roars  the  individual,  who  it  appears  was  a  keeper  of  Lord  Car- 
abas.     "  You'll  get  six  shillings  a  brace  for  'em." 

"  You  know  the  price  of  'em  well  enough,  and  so  does  your 
master  too,  you  scoundrel,"  says  Ponto,  still  retreating. 

"We  kills  'em  on  our  ground,"  cries  Mr.  Snapper.  "  We 
don't  set  traps  for  other  people's  birds.  We're  no  decoy  ducks. 
We're  no  sneaking  poachers.  We  don't  shoot  'ens,  like  that 
'ere  Cockney,  who's  got  the  tail  of  one  a-sticking  out  of  his 
pocket.     Only  just  come  across  the  hedge,  that's  all." 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  says  Stripes,  who  was  out  with  us  as 
keeper  this  day,  (in  fact  he's  keeper,  coachman,  gardener,  valet, 
and  bailiff,  with  Tummas  under  him,)  "if  j^//'//  come  across, 
John  Snapper,  and  take  your  coat  off,  I'll  give  you  such  a  whop- 
ping as  you've  never  had  since  the  last  time  I  did  it  at  Guttle- 
bury  Fair." 

"  Whop  one  of  your  own  weight,"  Mr.  Snapper  said,  whist- 
ling his  dogs,  and  disappearing  into  the  wood.  And  so  we 
came  out  of  this  controversy  rather  victoriously ;  but  I  began  to 
al'er  my  preconceived  ideas  of  rural  felicity. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

ON    SOME    COUNTRY    SNOBS. 


Be  hanged  to  your  aristocrats  !  "  Ponto  said,  in  some  con 
versation  we  had  regarding  the  family  at  Carabas,  between 
whom  and  the  Evergreens  there  was  a  feud.  "  When  I  first 
came  into  \^^  county — it  was  the  year  before  Sir  John  Bull 


340 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


contested  in  the  Blue  interest  —  the  Marquis,  then  Lord  St. 
Michaels,  who,  of  course,  was  Orange  to  the  core,  paid  me  and 
Mrs.  Ponto  such  attentions,  that  I  fairly  confess  I  was  taken 
in  by  the  old  humbug,  and  thought  that  I'd  met  with  a  rare 
neighbor.  'Gad,  sir,  we  used  to  get  pines  from  Carabas,  and 
pheasants  from  Carabas,  and  it  was — '  Ponto,  when  will  you 
come  over  and  shoot  ?  ' — and — '  Ponto,  our  pheasants  want 
thinning,' — and  my  Lady  would  insist  upon  her  dear  Mrs. 
Ponto  coming  over  to  Carabas  to  sleep,  and  put  me  I  don't 
know  to  what  expense  for  turbans  and  velvet  gowns  for  my 
wife's  toilette.  Well,  Sir,  the  election  takes  place,  and  though 
I  was  always  a  Liberal,  personal  friendship  of  course  induces 
me  to  plump  for  St.  Michaels,  who  comes  in  at  the  head  of  the 
poll.  Next  year,  Mrs.  P.  insists  upon  going  to  town — with 
lodgings  in  Clarges  Street  at  ten  pounds  a  week,  with  a  hired 
brougham,  and  new  dresses  for  herself  and  the  girls,  and  the 
deuce  and  all  to  pay.  Our  first  cards  were  to  Carabas  House  ; 
my  Lady's  are  returned  by  a  great  big  flunkey  :  and  I  leave 
you  to  fancy  my  poor  Betsy's  discomfiture  as  the  lodging-house 
maid  took  in  the  cards,  and  Lady  St.  Michaels  drives  away, 
though  she  actually  saw  us  at  the  drawing-room  window. 
Would  you  believe  it.  Sir,  that  though  we  called  four  times 
afterwards,  those  infernal  aristocrats  never  returned  our  visit  \ 
that  though  Lady  St.  Michaels  gave  nine  dinner-parties  and 
four  dejefnicrs  that  season,  she  never  asked  us  to  one  ;  and  that 
she  cut  us  dead  at  the  Opera,  though  Betsy  was  nodding  to  her 
the  whole  night  ?  We  wrote  to  her  for  tickets  for  Almack's  ; 
she  writes  to  say  that  all  hers  were  promised  ;  and  said,  in  the 
presence  of  Wiggins,  her  lady's-maid,  who  told  it  to  Diggs,  my 
wife's  woman,  that  she  couldn't  conceive  how  people  in  our 
station  of  life  could  so  far  forget  themselves  as  to  wish  to  ap- 
pear in  any  such  place  !  Go  to  Castle  Carabas  !  I'd  sooner 
die  than  set  my  foot  in  the  house  of  that  impertinent,  insolvent, 
insolent  jackanapes — and  I  hold  him  in  scorn  !  "  After  this, 
Ponto  gave  me  some  private  information  regarding  Lord  Car- 
abas's  pecuniary  affairs  ;  how  he  owed  money  all  over  the  coun- 
try ;  how  Jukes  the  carpenter  was  utterly  ruined  and  couldn't 
get  a  shilling  of  his  bill  ;  how  Biggs  the  butcher  hanged  himself 
for  the  same  reason  ;  how  the  six  big  footmen  never  received  a 
guinea  of  wages,  and  Snafile,  the  state  coachman,  actually  took 
off  his  blown-glass  wig  of  ceremony  and  flung  it  at  Lady  Cara- 
bas's  feet  on  the  terrace  before  the  Castle  ;  all  which  stories,  as 
they  are  private,  I  do  not  think  proper  to  divulge.  But  these 
details  did  not  stifle  my  desire   to  see  the  famous  mansion  of 


ON  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 


34» 


Castle  Carabas,  nay,  possibly  excited  my  interest  to  know  more 
about  that  lordly  house  and  its  owners. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  park,  there  are  a  pair  of  great  gaunt 
mildewed  lodges — mouldy  Doric  temples  with  black  chimney- 
pots, in  the  finest  classic  taste,  and  the  gates  of  course  are  sur- 
mounted by  the  chats  bottcs,  the  well  known  supporters  of  the 
Carabas  family.  "  Give  the  lodge-keeper  a  shilling,"  says 
Ponto  (who  drove  me  near  to  it  in  his  four-wheeled  cruelty 
chase).  "  I  warrant  it's  the  first  piece  of  ready-money  he  has 
received  for  some  time."  I  don't  know  whether  there  was  any 
foundation  for  this  sneer,  but  the  gratuity  was  received  with  a 
curtsey,  and  the  gate  opened  for  me  to  enter.  "  Poor  old  por- 
teress  !  "  says  I,  inwardly.  "  You  little  know  that  it  is  the  His- 
torian of  Snobs  whom  you  let  in  ! "  The  gates  were  passed. 
A  damp  green  stretch  of  park  spread  right  and  left  immeasur- 
ably, confined  by  a  chilly  gray  wall,  and  a  damp  long  straight 
road  between  two  huge  rows  of  moist,  dismal  lime-trees,  leads 
up  to  the  Castle.  In  the  midst  of  the  park  is  a  great  black 
tank  or  lake,  bristling  over  with  rushes,  and  here  and  there 
covered  over  with  patches  of  pea-soup.  A  shabby  temple  rises 
on  an  island  in  this  delectable  lake,  which  is  approached  by  a 
rotten  barge  that  lies  at  roost  in  a  dilapidated  boat-house. 
Clumps  of  elms  and  oaks  dot  over  the  huge  green  flat.  Every 
one  of  them  would  have  been  down  long  since,  but  that  the 
Marquis  is  not  allowed  to  cut  the  timber. 

Up  that  long  avenue  the  Snobographer  walked  in  solitude. 
At  the  seventy-ninth  tree  on  the  left-hand  side,  the  insolvent 
butcher  hanged  himself.  I  scarcely  wondered  at  the  dismal 
deed,  so  awful  and  sad  were  the  impressions  connected  with  the 
place.  So,  for  a  mile  and  a  half  I  walked — alone  and  thinking 
of  death. 

I  forgot  to  say  the  house  is  in  full  view  all  the  way — except 
when  intercepted  by  the  trees  on  the  miserable  island  in  the 
lake — an  enormous  red-brick  mansion,  square,  vast,  and  dingy. 
It  is  flanked  by  four  stone  towers  with  weathercocks.  In  the 
midst  of  the  grand  facade  is  a  huge  Ionic  portico,  approached 
by  a  vast,  lonely,  ghastly  staircase.  Rows  of  black  windows, 
framed  in  stone,  stretch  on  either  side,  right  and  left — three 
storeys  and  eighteen  windows  of  a  row.  You  may  see  a  picture 
of  the  palace  and  staircase,  in  the  "Views  of  England  and 
Wales,"  with  four  carved  and  gilt  carriages  waiting  at  the  gravel 
walk,  and  several  parties  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  wigs  and 
hoops,  dotting  the  fatiguing  lines  of  the  stairs. 


342 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


But  these  stairs  are  made  in  great  houses  for  people  not  to 
ascend.  The  first  Lady  Carabas  (they  are  but  eighty  years  in 
the  peerage),  if  she  got  out  of  her  gilt  coach  in  a  shower,  would 
be  wet  to  the  skin  before  she  got  half-way  to  the  carved  Ionic 
portico,  where  four  dreary  statues  of  Peace,  Plenty,  Piety  and 
Patriotism,  are  the  only  sentinels.  You  enter  these  Palaces  by 
back  doors.  "  That  was  the  way  the  Carabases  got  their  peer- 
age," the  misanthropic  Ponto  said  after  dinner. 

Well — I  rang  the  bell  at  a  little  low  side  door  ;  it  clanged  and 
jingled  and  echoed  for  a  long,  long  while,  till  at  length  a  face, 
as  of  a  housekeeper,  peered  through  the  door,  and,  as  she  saw 
my  hand  in  my  waistcoat  pocket,  opened  it.  Unhappy,  lonely, 
housekeeper,  I  thought.  Is  Miss  Crusoe  in  her  island  more 
solitary?     The  door  clapped  to,  and  I  was  in  Castle  Carabas. 

"The  side  entrance  and  All,"  says  the  housekeeper.  "  The 
halligator  hover  the  mantel  piece  was  brought  home  by  Hadmiral 
St.  Michaels,  when  a  Capting  with  Lord  Hanson.  The  harms 
on  the  cheers  is  the  harms  of  the  Carabas  family."  The  hall 
was  rather  comfortable.  We  went  clapping  up  a  clean  stone 
backstair,  and  then  into  a  back  passage  cheerfully  decorated 
with  ragged  light-green  Kidderminster,  and  issued  upon 

"  THE    GREAT    ALL. 

"  The  great  all  is  seventy-two  feet  in  length,  fifty-six  in 
breath,  and  thirty-eight  feet  'igh.  The  carvings  of  the  chimlies, 
representing  the  buth  of  Venus,  and  Ercules,  and  Eyelash,  is  b} 
Van  Chislum,  the  most  famous  sculpture  of  his  hage  and  country. 
The  ceiling,  by  Calimanco,  represents  Painting,  Harchitecture 
and  Music  (the  naked  female  figure  with  the  barrel  horgan)  in- 
troducing George,  fust  Lord  Carabas,  to  the  Temple  of  the 
Muses.  The  winder  ornaments  is  by  Vanderputty.  The  floor 
is  Patagonian  marble  ;  and  the  chandelier  in  the  centre  was 
presented  to  Lionel,  second  Marquis,  by  Lewy  the  Sixteenth, 
whose  'ead  was  cut  hoft'  in  the  French  Revelation.  We  now 
henter 

*'  THE    SOUTH    GALLERY. 

"  One  'undred  and  forty-eight  in  length  by  thirty-two  in 
breath  ;  it  is  profusely  hornaminted  by  the  choicest  works  ot 
Hart.  Sir  Andrew  Katz,  founder  of  the  Carabas  family  and 
banker  of  the  Prince  of  Horange,  Kneller.  Her  present  Lady 
5hip,  by  Lawrence.     Lord  St.  Michaels,  by  the  same — he  is  rep- 


ox  SOME  COUNTRY  SyOBS.  343 

resented  sittin*  on  a  rock  in  velvit  pantaloons.  Moses  in.  the 
bullrushes — the  bull  very  fine,  by  Paul  Potter.  The  toilet  of 
Venus,  Fantaski.  Flemish  Bores  drinking,  Van  Ginnums. 
Jupiter  and  Europia,  de  Horn.  The  Grandjunction  Canal, 
Venis,  by  Candleetty  ;  and  Italian  Bandix,  by  Slavata  Rosa." — 
And  so  this  worthy  woman  went  on,  from  one  room  into  an- 
other, from  the  blue  room  to  the  green,  and  the  green  to  the 
grand  saloon,  and  the  grand  saloon  to  the  tapestry  closet, 
cackling  her  list  of  pictures  and  wonders  :  and  furtively  turning 
up  a  corner  of  brown  holland  to  show  the  color  of  the  old, 
faded,  seedy,  mouldy,  dismal  hangings. 

At  last  we  came  to  her  Ladyship's  bedroom.  In  the  centre 
of  this  dreary  apartment  there  is  a  bed  about  the  size  of  one  of 
those  whizgig  temples  in  which  the  Genius  appears  in  a  panto- 
mime. The  huge  gilt  edifice  is  approached  by  steps,  and  so 
tall,  that  it  might  be  let  off  in  floors,  for  sleeping-rooms  for  all 
the  Carabas  family.  An  awful  bed  !  A  murder  might  be  done 
at  one  end  of  that  bed,  and  people  sleeping  at  the  other  end  be 
ignorant  of  it.  Gracious  powers!  fancy  little  Lord  Carabas  in 
a  nightcap  ascending  those  steps  after  putting  out  the  candle  ! 

The  sight  of  that  seedy  and  solitary  splendor  was  too  much 
for  me.  I  should  go  mad  were  I  that  lonely  housekeeper — in 
those  enormous  galleries — in  that  lonely  library,  filled  up  with 
ghastly  folios  that  nobody  dares  read,  with  an  inkstand  on  the 
centre  table  like  the  coffin  of  a  baby,  and 'sad  portraits  staring 
at  you  from  the  bleak  walls  with  their  solemn  mouldy  eyes. 
No  wonder  that  Carabas  does  not  come  down  here  often.  It 
would  require  two  thousand  footmen  to  make  the  place  cheer- 
ful. No  wonder  the  coachman  resigned  his  wig,  that  the  mas- 
ters are  insolvent,  and  the  servants  perish  in  this  huge  dreary 
out-at-elbow  place. 

A  single  family  has  no  more  right  to  build  itself  a  temple  of 
that  sort  than  to  erect  a  tower  of  Babel.  Such  a  habitation  is 
not  decent  for  a  mere  mortal  man.  But,  after  all,  I  suppose 
poor  Carabas  had  no  choice.  Fate  put  him  there  as  it  sent 
Napoleon  to  St.  Helena.  Suppose  it  had  been  decreed  by  Na- 
ture that  you  and  I  should  be  Marquises  ?  We  wouldn't  refuse, 
I  suppose,  but  take  Castle  Carabas  and  all,  with  debts,  duns, 
and  mean  makeshifts,  and  shabby  pride,  and  swindling  mag- 
nificence. 

Next  season,  when  I  read  of  Lady  Carabas's  splendid  en- 
tertainments in  the  Morning  Post,  and  see  the  poor  old  insol- 
vent cantering  through  the  Park — I  shall  have  a  much  tenderer 
interest  in  these  great   people  than   I   have  had  heretofore. 


344 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Poor  old  shabby  Snob  !  Ride  on  and  fancy  the  world  is  still 
on  its  knees  before  the  house  of  Carabas  !  Give  yourself  airs, 
poor  old  bankrupt  Magnifico,  who  are  under  money-obligations 
to  your  flunkeys  ;  and  must  stoop  so  as  to  swindle  poor  trades- 
men !  And  for  us,  O  my  brother  Snobs,  oughtn't  we  to  feel 
happy  if  our  walk  through  life  is  more  even,  and  that  we  are 
out  of  the  reach  of  that  surprising  arrogance  and  that  as- 
tounding meanness  to  which  this  wretched  old  victim  is  obliged 
to  mount  and  descend.' 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A   VISIT   TO    SOME    COUNTRY   SNOBS. 

Notable  as  my  reception  had  been  (under  that  unfortunate 
mistake  of  Mrs.  Ponto  that  I  was  related  to  Lord  Snobbington, 
which  I  was  not  permitted  to  correct),  it  was  nothing  compared 
to  the  bowing  and  kotooting,  the  ruptures  and  flurry  which  pre- 
ceded and  welcomed  the  visit  of  a  real  live  lord  and  lord's 
son,  a  brother  officer  of  Cornet  Wellesley  Ponto,  120th 
Hussars,  who  came  over  with  the  young  Cornet  from  Guttle- 
bury,  where  their  distinguished  regiment  was  quartered.  This 
was  my  Lord  Gules,  Lord  Saltire's  grandson  and  heir  :  a  very 
young,  short,  sandy-haired  and  tobacco-smoking  nobleman,  who 
cannot  have  left  the  nursery  very  long,  and  who,  though  he 
accepted  the  honest  Major's  invitation  to  the  Evergreens  in  a 
letter  written  in  a  school-boy  handwriting,  with  a  number  of 
faults  in  spelling,  may  yet  be  a  very  fine  classical  scholar  for 
what  I  know :  having  had  his  education  at  Eton,  where  he  and 
young  Ponto  was  inseparable. 

At  any  rate,  if  he  can't  write,  he  has  mastered  a  number  of 
other  accomplishments  wonderful  for  one  of  his  age  and  size. 
He  is  one  of  the  best  shots  and  riders  in  England.  He  rode 
his  horse  Abracadabra,  and  won  the  famous  Guttlebury  steeple- 
chase. He  has  horses  entered  at  half  the  races  in  the  country 
(under  other  people's  names  ;  for  the  old  lord  is  a  strict  hand, 
and  will  not  hear  of  betting  or  gambling).  He  has  lost  and 
won  such  sums  of  money  as  my  Lord  George  himself  might  be 
proud  of.  He  knows  all  the  stables,  and  all  the  jockeys,  and 
has  all  the  "information,"  and  is  a  match  for  the  best  Leg  at 


A   VISIT  TO  SOME  COUNTRY  SN0B6.  345 

Newmarket.  Nobody  was  ever  known  to  be  "  too  much  ''  for 
him  :  at  play  or  in  the  stable. 

Although  his  grandfather  makes  him  a  moderate  allowance, 
by  the  aid  of  post-obits  and  convenient  friends  he  can  live  in  a 
splendor  becoming  his  rank.  He  has  not  distinguished  him- 
self in  the  knocking  down  of  policemen  much  ;  he  is  not  big 
enough  for  that.  But,  as  a  light-weight,  his  skill  is  of  the  very 
highest  order.  At  billiards  he  is  said  to  be  first-rate.  He 
drinks  and  smokes  as  much  as  any  two  of  the  biggest  officers 
in  his  regiment.  With  such  high  talents,  who  can  say  how  far 
he  may  not  go  ?  He  may  take  to  politics  as  a  delassement,  and 
be  Prime  Minister  after  Lord  George  Bentinck. 

My  young  friend  Wellesley  Ponto  is  a  gaunt  and  bony 
youth,  with  a  pale  face  profusely  blotched.  From  his  contin- 
ually pulling  something  on  his  chin,  I  am  led  to  fancy  that  he 
believes  he  has  what  is  called  an  Imperial  growing  there.  That 
is  not  the  only  tuft  that  is  hunted  in  the  family,  by  the  way. 
He  can't,  of  course,  indulge  in  those  expensive  amusements 
which  render  his  aristocratic  comrade  so  respected  :  he  bets 
pretty  freely  when  he  is  in  cash,  and  rides  when  somebody 
mounts  him  (for  he  can't  afford  more  than  his  regulation 
chargers).  At  drinking  he  is  by  no  means  inferior ;  and  why 
do  you  think  he  brought  his  noble  friend.  Lord  Gules,  to  the 
Evergreens  ? — Why  ?  because  he  intended  to  ask  his  mother 
to  order  his  father  to  pay  his  debts,  which  she  couldn't  refuse 
before  such  an  exalted  presence.  Young  Ponto  gave  me  all 
this  information  with  the  most  engaging  frankness.  We  are 
old  friends.     I  used  to  tip  him  when  he  was  at  school. 

"  Gad  !  "  says  he,  "  our  wedgment's  so  doothid  exthpenthif. 
Must  hunt,  you  know.  A  man  couldn't  live  in  the  wedgment 
if  he  didn't.  Mess  expense  enawmuth.  Must  dine  at  mess. 
Must  drink  champagne  and  claret.  Ours  ain't  a  port  and 
sherry  light-infantry  mess.  Uniform's  awful.  Fitzstultz,  our 
Colonel,  will  have  'em  so.  Must  be  a  distinction  you  know. 
At  his  own  expense  Fitzstultz  altered  the  plumes  in  the  men's 
caps,  you  called  them  shaving-brushes.  Snob  my  boy :  most 
absurd  and  unjust  that  attack  of  yours,  by  the  way ;  that  alte- 
wation  alone  cotht  him  five  hundred  pound.  The  year  befaw 
iatht  he  horthed  the  wegiment  at  an  immenthe  expenthe,  and 
we're  called  the  Queen'th  Own  Pyebalds  from  that  day.  Ever 
tlieen  uth  on  pawade  ?  The  Empewar  Nicolath  burtht  into 
tearth  of  envy  when  he  thaw  uth  at  Windthor.  And  you  see," 
continued  my  young  friend,  "  I  brought  Gules  down  with  me, 
as  the  Governor  is  very  sulky  about  shelling  out,  just  to  talk 


346 


THE  BOOK  OF  SISTOBS. 


my  mother  over,  who  can  do  anything  with  him.  Gules  told 
her  that  I  was  Fitzstultz's  favorite  of  the  whole  regiment ;  and, 
Gad  !  she  thinks  the  Horse  Guards  will  give  me  my  troop  for 
nothing,  and  he  humbugged  the  Governor  that  I  was  the 
greatest  screw  in  the  army.     Ain't  it  a  good  dodge  ?  " 

With  this  Wellesley  left  me  to  go  and  smoke  a  cigar  in  the 
stables  with  Lord  Gules,  and  make  merry  over  the  cattle  there, 
under  Stripes's  superintendence.  Young  Ponto  laughed  with 
his  friend,  at  the  venerable  four-wheeled  cruelty-chaise ;  but 
seemed  amazed  that  the  latter  should  ridicule  still  more  an 
ancient  chariot  of  the  build  of  1824,  emblazoned  immensely 
with  the  arms  of  the  Pontes  and  the  Snaileys,  from  which  latter 
distinguished  family  Mrs.  Ponto  issued. 

I  found  poor  Pon  in  his  study  among  his  boots,  in  such  a 
rueful  attitude  of  despondency,  that  I  could  not  but  remark  it, 
"  Look  at  that !  "  says  the  poor  fellow,  handing  me  over  a 
document.  "  It's  the  second  change  in  uniform  since  he's  been 
in  the  army,  and  yet  there's  no  extravagance  about  the  lad. 
Lord  Gules  tells  me  he  is  the  most  careful  youngster  in  the 
regiment,  God  bless  him  !  But  look  at  that !  by  heaven,  Snob, 
look  at  that  and  say  how  can  a  man  of  nine  hundred  keep  out 
of  the  Bench  ?  He  gave  a  sob  as  he  handed  me  the  paper 
across  the  table ;  and  his  old  face,  and  his  old  corduroys,  and 
his  shrunk  shooting-jacket,  and  his  lean  shanks,  looked,  as  he 
spoke,  more  miserably  haggard,  bankrupt,  and  threadbare. 


Lieut.  Wellesley  Poiito,  i2o//i  Qiieefi's 


£  s.  d. 

Dress  Jacket,  richly  laced  with  gold  35     o  c 
Ditto    Pelisse   ditto,   and   trimmed 

with  sable     .        .        .        .         .  60    o  o 

Undress  Jacket,  trimmed  with  gold  15   15  0 


Ditto  Pelisse 

Dress  Pantaloons    .        .        .         . 

Ditto  Overalls,  gold  lace  on  sides  . 

Undress  ditto  ditto 

Blue  Braided  Frock 

Forage  Cap 

press  Cap,  gold  lines,  plume  and 
chain  


30  o 

12  O 

6  6 

5  5 

14  14 

3  3 

25  o 


Own  Pyebald  Hussars, 

To  KnoJ>/ and  Stecknadel, 

Conduit  Street,  Lotrdoti. 

£  s.  d. 

Brought  forward  207     3     o 

Gold  Barrelled  Sash        .  .  .11180 

Sword      .        .         .        .  .  .11110 

Ditto  Belt  and  Sabretache  .  .   16  16    o 

Pouch  and  Belt        .         .  .  .   15  15     o 

Sword  Knot              .         .  .  .140 

Cloak       .         .         .         .  .  .   13   13     o 

Valise      .        .        .        .  .  .     3   13     6 

Regulation  Saddle           .  .  .7:76 

Ditto  Bridle,  complete     •  .  .   10  10     o 

A  Dress  Housing,  complete  .  .  30     o    o 

A  pair  of  Pistols      .         .  .  .   10  10    o 

A  Black  Sheepskin,  edged  .  .     6  iS    o 


-^207     3 


Carried  forward  ^347     9    o 


That  evening  Mrs.  Ponto  and  her  family  made  their  darling 
Wellesley  give  a  full,  true  and  particular  account  of  everything 
that  had  taken  place  at  Lord  Fitzstultz's;  how  many  servants 
waitetl  at  dinner ;  and  how  the  ladies  Schneider  dressed  ;  and 
■what  his  Royal  Highness  said  wlien  he  came  down  to  shoot^ 


ON  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS.  347 

and  who  was  there?  "What  a  blessing  that  boy  is  to  me!" 
said  she,  as  my  pimple-faced  young  friend  moved  off  to  resume 
smoking  operations  with  Gules  in  the  now  vacant  kitchen ; — 
and  poor  Ponto's  dreary  and  desperate  look,  shall  I  ever  for- 
get that? 

O  you  parents  and  guardians  !  O  you  men  and  women  of 
sense  in  England!  O  you  legislators  about  to  assemble  in 
Parliament !  read  over  that  tailor's  bill  above  printed — read 
over  that  absurd  catalogue  of  insane  gimcracks  and  madman's 
tomfoolery — and  say  how  are  you  ever  to  get  rid  of  Snobbish- 
ness when  society  does  so  much  for  its  education  ? 

Three  hundred  and  forty  pounds  for  a  young  chap's  saddle 
and  breeches !  Before  George,  I  would  rather  be  a  Hottentot 
or  a  Highlander.  We  laugh  at  poor  Jocko,  the  monkey,  dan- 
cing in  uniform  ;  or  at  poor  Jeames,  the  flunkey,  with  his  quiver- 
ing calves  and  plush  tights ;  or  at  the  nigger  Marquis  of 
Marmalade,  dressed  out  with  sabre  and  epaulets,  and  giving 
himself  the  airs  of  a  field-marshal.  Lo  !  is  not  one  of  the 
Queen's  Pyebalds,  in  full  fig,  as  great  and  foolish  a  monster? 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

ON   SOME   COUNTRY   SNOBS. 


At  last  came  that  fortunate  day  at  the  Evergreens,  when  I 
was  to  be  made  acquainted  with  some  of  the  "  county  families  " 
with  whom  only  people  of  Ponto's  rank  condescended  to  associ- 
ate. And  now,  although  poor  Ponto  had  just  been  so  cruelly 
made  to  bleed  on  occasion  of  his  son's  new  uniform,  and  though 
he  was  in  the  direst  and  most  cutthroat  spirits  with  an  over- 
drawn account  at  the  banker's,  and  other  pressing  evils  of 
poverty ;  although  a  tenpenny  bottle  of  Marsala  and  an  awful 
parsimony  presided  generally  at  his  table,  yet  the  poor  fellow 
was  obliged  to  assume  the  most  frank  and  jovial  air  of  cordi- 
ality ;  and  all  the  covers  being  removed  from  the  hangings,  and 
new  dresses  being  procured  for  the  young  ladies,  and  the  family 
plate  being  unlocked  and  displayed,  the  house  and  all  within 
assumed  a  benevolent  and  festive  appearance.  The  kitchen 
fires  began  to  blaze,  the  good  wine  ascended  from  the  cellar,  a 
professed  cook  actually  came  over  from  Guttlebury  to  compile 


348  7HE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

culinary  abominations.  Stripes  was  in  a  new  coat,  and  so  was 
Ponto,  for  a  wonder,  and  Tummus's  button-suit  was  worn  eix 
permanence.* 

And  all  this  to  show  off  the  little  lord,  thinks  I.  All  this  in 
honor  of  a  stupid  little  cigarrified  Cornet  of  dragoons,  who  can 
barely  write  his  name, — while  an  eminent  and  profound  moral- 
ist like — somebody — is  fobbed  off  with  cold  mutton  and  relays 
of  pig.  Well,  well :  a  martyrdom  of  cold  mutton  is  just  bearable. 
I  pardon  Mrs.  Ponto,  from  my  heart  I  do,  especially  as  I 
wouldn't  turn  out  of  the  best  bedroom,  in  spite  of  all  her  hints  ; 
but  held  my  ground  in  the  chintz  tester,  vowing  that  Lord 
Gules,  as  a  young  man,  was  quite  small  and  hardy  enough  to 
make  himself  comfortable  elsewhere. 

The  great  Ponto  party  was  a  very  august  one.  The  Haw- 
bucks came  in  their  family  coach,  with  the  blood-red  hand 
emblazoned  all  over  it :  and  their  man  in  yellow  livery  waited 
in  country  fashion  at  table,  only  to  be  exceeded  in  splendor  by 
the  Hipsleys,  the  opposition  baronet,  in  light-blue.  The  old 
Ladies  Fitzague  drove  over  in  their  little  old  chariot  with  the 
fat  black  horses,  and  fat  coachman,  the  fat  footman — (why  are 
dowagers'  horses  and  footmen  always  fat  ?)  And  soon  after 
these  personages  had  arrived,  with  their  auburn  fronts  and  red 
beaks  and  turbans,  came  the  Honorable  and  Reverend  Lionel 
Pettipois,  who  with  General  and  Mrs.  Sago  formed  the  rest  of 
the  party.  "  Lord  and  Lady  Frederick  Howlet  were  asked, 
but  they  have  friends  at  Ivybush,"  Mrs.  Ponto  told  me :  and 
that  very  morning,  the  Castlehaggards  sent  an  excuse,  as  her 
ladyship  had  a  return  of  the  quinsy.  Between  ourselves.  Lady 
Castlehaggard's  quinsy  always  comes  on  when  there  is  dinner 
at  the  Evergreens. 

If  the  keeping  of  polite  company  could  make  a  woman 
happy,  surely  my  kind  hostess  Mrs.  Ponto  was  on  that  day  a 
happy  woman.  Every  person  present  (except  the  unlucky  im- 
postor who  pretended  to  a  connection  with  the  Snobbington 
family,  and  General  Sago,  who  had  brought  home  I  don't  know 
how  many  lacs  of  rupees  from  India,)  was  related  to  the  Peerage 
or  the  Baronetage.  Mrs.  P.  had  her  heart's  desire.  If  she  had 
been  an  Earl's  daughter  herself  could  she  have  expected  better 
company  ? — and  her  family  were  in  the  oil-trade  at  Bristol,  as 
all  her  friends  very  well  know. 

What  I  complained  of  in  my  heart  was  not  the  dining — ■ 
which,  for  this  once,  was  plentiful  and  comfortable  enough — 

•  I  caught  him  in  this  costume,  trying  the  flavor  of  the  sauce  of  a  tipsy-cike,  wliich  was 
made  by  Mrs.  Ponto' s  own  hands  for  her  guests'  delectation. 


OM  SVME  COUNTRY  SNOBS. 


349 


iut  the  prodigious  dulness  of  the  talking  part  of  the  entertain- 
ment. O  my  beloved  brother  Snobs  of  the  City,  if  we  love  each 
other  no  better  than  our  country  brethren,  at  least  we  amuse 
each  other  more ;  if  we  bore  ourselves,  we  are  not  called  upon 
to  go  ten  miles  to  do  it ! 

P'or  instance,  the  Hipsleys  came  ten  miles  from  the  south, 
and  the  Hawbucks  ten  miles  from  the  north,  of  the  Evergreens  ; 
and  were  magnates  in  two  different  divisions  of  the  country  of 
Mangelwurzelshire.  Hipsley,  who  is  an  old  baronet  with  a 
bothered  estate,  did  not  care  to  show  his  contempt  for  Haw- 
buck, who  is  a  new  creation,  and  rich.  Hawbuck,  on  his  part, 
gives  himself  patronizing  airs  to  General  Sago,  who  looks  upon 
the  Pontos  as  little  better  than  paupers.  "  Old  Lady  Blanche," 
says  Ponto,  "  I  hope  will  leave  something  to  her  goddaughter 
— my  second  girl — we've  all  of  us  half-poisoned  ourselves  with 
taking  her  physic." 

Lady  Blanche  and  Lady  Rose  Fitzague  have,  the  first,  a 
medical,  and  the  second  a  literary  turn.  I  am  inclined  to  be- 
lieve the  former  had  a  wet  covipresse  around  her  body,  on  the 
occasion  when  I  had  the  happiness  of  meeting  her.  She  doc- 
tors everybody  in  the  neighborhood,  of  which  she  is  the  orna- 
ment ;  and  has  tried  everything  on  her  own  person.  She  went 
into  Court,  and  testified  publicly  her  faith  in  St.  John  Long  : 
she  swore  by  Doctor  Buchan,  she  took  quantities  of  Gambouge's 
Universal  Medicine,  and  whole  boxfuls  of  Parr's  Life  Pills. 
She  has  cured  a  multiplicity  of  headaches  by  Squinstone's  Eye- 
snuff  ;  she  wears  a  picture  of  Hahnemann  in  her  bracelet  and 
a  lock  of  Priessnitz's  hair  in  a  brooch.  She  talked  about  her 
own  complaints  and  those  of  her  confidante  for  the  time  being, 
to  every  lady  in  the  room  successively,  from  our  hostess  down 
to  Miss  Wirt,  taking  them  into  corners,  and  whispering  about 
bronchitis,  hepatitis,  St.  Vitus,  neuralgia,  cephalalgia,  and  so 
forth.  I  observed  poor  fat  Lady  Hawbuck  in  a  dreadful  alarm 
after  some  communication  regarding  the  state  of  her  daughter 
Miss  Lucy  Hawbuck's  health,  and  Mrs.  Sago  turn  quite  yellow, 
and  put  down  her  third  glass  of  Madeira,  at  a  warning  glance 
from  Lady  Blanche. 

Lady  Rose  talked  literature,  and  about  the  book-club  at 
Guttlebury,  and  is  very  strong  in  voyages  and  travels.  She 
has  a  prodigious  interest  in  Borneo,  and  displayed  a  knowledge 
of  the  history  of  the  Punjaub  and  Kaffirland  that  does  credit 
to  her  memory.  Old  General  Sago,  who  sat  perfectly  silent 
and  plethoric,  roused  up  as  from  a  lethargy  when  the  former 
country  was  mentioned,  and  gave  the  company  his  story  about 


35° 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


a  hog-hunt  at  Ramjugger,  I  observed  her  ladyship  treated 
with  something  like  contempt  her  neighbor  the  Reverend  Lionel 
Pettipois,  a  young  divine  whom  you  may  track  through  the 
country  by  little  "  awakening"  books  at  half  a  crown  a  hundred, 
which  dribble  out  of  his  pockets  wherever  he  goes.  I  saw 
him  give  Miss  Wirt  a  sheaf  of  "  The  Little  Washerwoman  on 
Putney  Common,"  and  to  Miss  Hawbuck  a  couple  of  dozen  of 
"  Meat  in  the  Tray  ;  or  the  Young  Butcher-boy  Rescued ;  "  and 
on  paying  a  visit  to  Guttlebury  jail,  I  saw  two  notorious  fellows 
waiting  their  trial  there  (and  temporarily  occupied  with  a  game 
of  cribbage),  to  whom  his  Reverence  offered  a  tract  as  he  was 
walking  over  Crackshins  Common,  and  who  robbed  him  of  his 
purse,  umbrella,  and  cambric  handkerchief,  leaving  him  the 
tracts  to  distribute  elsewhere. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

A   VISIT   TO    SOME   COUNTRY    SNOBS. 

"  Why,  dear  Mr.  Snob,"  said  a  young  lady  of  rank  and  fashion 
(to  whom  I  present  my  best  compliments),  "  if  you  found  every- 
thing so  s7iobbish  at  the  Evergreens,  if  the  pig  bored  you  and 
the  mutton  was  not  to  your  liking,  and  Mrs.  Ponto  was  a  hum- 
bug, and  Miss  Wirt  a  nuisance,  with  her  abominable  piano  prac- 
tice,— why  did  you  stay  so  long  ?  " 

Ah,  Miss,  what  a  question !  Have  you  never  heard  of  gal- 
lant British  soldiers  storming  batteries,  of  doctors  passing 
nights  in  plague  wards  of  lazarettos,  and  other  instances  of 
martyrdom  ?  What  do  you  suppose  induced  gentlemen  to  walk 
two  miles  up  to  the  batteries  of  Sobraon,  with  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thundering  guns  bowling  them  down  by  hundreds  ? — not 
pleasure,  surely.  What  causes  your  respected  father  to  quit 
his  comfortable  home  for  his  chambers,  after  dinner,  and  pore 
over  the  most  dreary  law  papers  until  long  past  midnight  ? 
Duty,  Mademoiselle  ;  duty,  which  must  be  done  alike  by  mili- 
tary, or  legal,  or  literary  gents.  There's  a  power  of  martyrdom 
in  our  profession. 

You  won't  believe  it  ?  Your  rosy  lips  assume  a  smile  of 
incredulity — a  most  naughty  and  odious  expression  in  a  young 
lady's  face.  Well,  then,  the  fact  is,  that  my  chambers.  No.  24 
Pump  Court,  Temple,  were  being  painted  by  the  Honorable 


A   VISIT  TO  SOME  COUNTRY  SNOBS.  351 

Society,  and  Mrs.  Slamkin,  my  laundress,  having  occasion  to 
go  into  Durham  to  see  her  daughter,  who  is  married,  and  has 
presented  her  with  the  sweetest  little  grandson — a  few  weeks 
could  not  be  better  spent  than  in  rusticating.  But  ah,  how 
delightful  Pump  Court  looked  when  I  revisited  its  well-known 
chimney-pots  !  Cari  Inoghi.  Welcome,  welcome,  O  fog  and 
smut ! 

But  if  you  think  there  is  no  moral  in  the  foregoing  account 
of  the  Pontine  Family,  you  are,  Madam,  most  painfully  mis- 
taken. In  this  ver)'  chapter  we  are  going  to  have  the  moral — 
why,  the  whole  of  the  papers  are  nothing  but  the  moral,  setting 
forth  as  they  do  the  folly  of  being  a  Snob. 

You  will  remark  that  in  the  Country  Snobography  my  poor 
friend  Ponto  has  been  held  up  almost  exclusively  for  the  public 
gaze — and  why  ?  Because  we  went  to  no  other  house .''  Be- 
cause other  families  did  not  welcome  us  to  their  mahogany? 
No,  no.  Sir  John  Hawbuck  of  the  Haws,  Sir  John  Hipsley  of 
Briary  Hall,  don't  shut  the  gates  of  hospitality  :  of  General 
Sago's  mulligatawny  I  could  speak  from  experience.  And  the 
two  old  ladies  at  Guttlebury,  were  they  nothing  ?  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  an  agreeable  young  dog,  who  shall  be  nameless,  would 
not  be  made  welcome  ?  Don't  you  know  that  people  are  too 
glad  to  see  a?iybody  in  the  country  ? 

But  those  dignified  personages  do  not  enter  into  the  scheme 
of  the  present  work,  and  are  but  minor  characters  of  our  Snob 
drama;  just  as,  in  the  play,  kings  and  emperors  are  not  half  so 
important  as  many  humble  persons.  The  Doge  of  Venice,  for 
instance,  gives  way  to  Othello,  who  is  but  a  nigger ;  and  the 
King  of  France  to  Falconbridge,  who  is  a  gentleman  of  positively 
no  birth  at  all.  So  with  the  exalted  characters  above  mentioned. 
I  perfectly  well  recollect  that  the  claret  at  Hawbuck's  was  not 
by  any  means  so  good  as  that  of  Hipsley's,  while,  on  the  con- 
trary, some  white  hermitage  at  the  Haws  (by  the  way,  the  butler 
only  gave  me  half  a  glass  each  time)  was  supernacular.  And  I 
remember  the  conversations.  O  Madame,  Madame,  how  stupid 
they  were  !  The  subsoil  ploughing  ;  the  pheasants  and  poach- 
ing ;  the  row  about  the  representation  of  the  county  ;  the  Earl 
of  Mangelwurzelshire  being  at  variance  with  his  relative  and 
nominee,  the  Plonorable  Marmaduke  Tomnoddy  ;  all  these  I 
could  put  down,  had  I  a  mind  to  violate  the  confidence  of  pri^ 
vate  life  ;  and  a  great  deal  of  conversation  about  the  weather, 
the  Mangelwurzelshire  Hunt,  new  manures,  and  eating  and 
drinking,  of  course. 

But  ciii  bono  1     In  these    perfectly  stupid   and  honorable 


352 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


families  there  is  not  that  Snobbishness  which  it  is  our  purpose 
to  expose.  An  ox  is  an  ox — a  great  hulking,  fat-sided,  bellow- 
ing, munching  Beef.  He  ruminates  according  to  his  nature, 
and  consumes  his  destined  portion  of  turnips  or  oilcake,  until 
the  time  comes  for  his  disappearance  from  the  pastures,  to  be 
succeeded  by  other  deep-lunged  and  fat-ribbed  animals.  Per- 
haps we  do  not  respect  an  ox.  We  rather  acquiesce  in  him. 
The  Snob,  my  dear  Madam,  is  the  Frog  that  tries  to  swell  him- 
self to  ox  size.     Let  us  pelt  the  silly  brute  out  of  his  folly. 

Look,  I  pray  you,  at  the  case  of  ray  unfortunate  friend  Ponto, 
a  good-natured,  kindly  English  gentleman — not  over-wise,  but 
quite  passable — fond  of  port-wine,  of  his  family,  of  country 
sports  and  agriculture,  hospitably  minded,  with  as  pretty  a  little 
patrimonial  country-house  as  heart  can  desire,  and  a  thousand 
pounds  a  year.  It  is  not  much  ;  but,  entre  nous,  people  can 
live  for  less,  and  not  uncomfortably. 

For  instance,  there  is  the  doctor,  whom  Mrs.  P.  does  not 
condescend  to  visit :  that  man  educates  a  mirific  family,  and  is 
loved  by  the  poor  for  miles  round  :  and  gives  them  port-wine 
for  physic  and  medicine,  gratis.  And  how  those  people  can 
get  on  with  their  pittance,  as  Mrs.  Ponto  says,  is  a  wonder 
to  her. 

Again,  there  is  the  clergyman.  Doctor  Chrysostom, — Mrs. 
P.  says  they  quarrelled  about  Puseyism,  but  I  am  given  to  un- 
derstand it  was  because  Mrs.  C.  had  the  pas  of  her  at  the  Haws 
■ — you  may  see  what  the  value  of  his  living  is  any  day  in  the 
*'  Clerical  Guide  ; "  but  you  don't  know  what  he  gives  away. 

Even  Pettipois  allows  that,  in  whose  eyes  the  Doctor's  sur- 
plice is  a  scarlet  abomination ;  and  so  does  Pettipois  do  his 
duty  in  his  way,  and  administer  not  only  his  tracts  and  his  talk, 
but  his  money  and  his  means  to  his  people.  As  a  lord's  son, 
by  the  way,  Mrs.  Ponto  is  uncommonly  anxious  that  he  should 
marry  either  of  the  girls  whom  Lord  Gules  does  not  intend  to 
choose. 

Well,  although  Pon's  income  would  make  up  almost  as  much 
as  that  of  these  three  worthies  put  together — oh,  my  dear 
Madam,  see  in  what  hopeless  penury  the  poor  fellow  lives  ! 
What  tenant  can  look  to  his  forbearance  ?  What  poor  man  can 
hope  for  his  charity  ?  "  Master's  the  best  of  men,"  honest 
Stripes  says,  "  and  when  we  was  in  the  ridgment  a  more  free- 
handed chap  didn't  live.  But  the  way  in  which  Missus  du 
scryou,  I  wonder  the  young  ladies  is  alive,  that  I  du  ! " 

'I'hey  live  upon  a  fine  governess  and  fine  masters,  and  have 
clothes  made  by   Lady  Carabas's    own   milliner ;    and   their 


SNOBBIUM  GATHERUM. 


353 


brother  rides  with  earls  to  cover  ;  and  only  the  best  people  in 
the  county  visit  at  the  Evergreens,  and  Mrs.  Ponto  thinks  her- 
self a  paragon  of  wives  and  mothers,  and  a  wonder  of  the  world, 
for  doing  all  this  misery  and  humbug,  and  snobbishness,  on  a 
thousand  a  year. 

What  an  inexpressible  comfort  it  was,  my  dear  Madam, 
when  Stripes  put  my  portmanteau  in  the  four-wheeled  chaise, 
and  (poor  Pon  being  touched  with  sciatica)  drove  me  over  to 
the  "  Carabas  Arms  "  at  Guttlebury,  where  we  took  leave. 
There  were  some  bagmen  there,  in  the  Commercial  Room,  and 
one  talked  about  the  house  he  represented  ;  and  another  about 
his  dinner,  and  a  third  about  the  Inns  on  the  road,  and  so  forth 
— a  talk,  not  very  wise,  but  honest  and  to  the  purpose — about 
as  good  as  that  of  the  country  gentlemen  :  and  oh,  how  much 
pleasanter  than  listening  to  Miss  Wirt's  show-pieces  on  the 
piano,  and  Mrs.  Ponto's  genteel  cackle  about  the  fashion  and 
the  county  families ! 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

SNOBBIUM      GATHERUM. 


When  I  see  the  great  effect  which  these  papers  are  produ- 
cing on  an  intelligent  public,  I  have  a  strong  hope  that  before 
long  we  shall  have  a  regular  Snob-department  in  the  newspapers, 
just  as  we  have  the  Police  Courts  and  the  Court  News  at  pres- 
ent. When  a  flagrant  case  of  bone-crushing  or  Poor-law  abuse 
occurs  in  the  world,  who  so  eloquent  as  The  Times  to  point  it  out  ? 
When  a  gross  instance  of  Snobbishness  happens,  why  should 
not  the  indignant  journalist  call  the  public  attention  to  that  de- 
linquency too  ? 

How,  for  instance,  could  that  wonderful  case  of  the  Earl  of 
Mangelwurzel  and  his  brother  be  examined  in  the  Snobbish 
point  of  view  ?  Let  alone  the  hectoring,  the  bullying,  the 
vaporing,  the  bad  grammar,  the  mutual  recriminations,  lie-giv- 
ings,  challenges,  retractions,  which  abound  in  the  fraternal  dis- 
pute— put  out  of  the  question  these  points  as  concerning  the 
individual  nobleman  and  his  relative,  with  whose  personal  affairs 
we  have  nothing  to  do — and  consider  how  intimately  corrupt, 
how  habitually  grovelling  and  mean,  how  entirely  Snobbish  in  a 


354  "^^^  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

word,  a  whole  county  must  be  which  can  find  no  better  chiefs 
or  leaders  than  these  two  gentlemen.  "  We  don't  want,"  the 
great  county  of  Mangelwurzelshire  seems  to  say,  "that  a  man 
should  be  able  to  write  good  grammar;  or  that  he  should  keep 
a  Christian  tongue  in  his  head  ;  or  that  he  should  have  the 
commonest  decency  of  temper,  or  even  a  fair  share  of  good 
sense,  in  order  to  represent  us  in  Parliament.  All  we  require 
is,  that  a  man  should  be  recommended  to  us  by  the  Earl  of 
Mangelwurzelshire.  And  all  that  we  require  of  the  Earl  of 
Mangelwurzelshire  is  that  he  should  have  fifty  thousand  a  year 
and  hunt  the  country."  O  you  pride  of  all  Snobland  !  O  you 
crawling,  truckling,  self-confessed  lackeys  and  parasites  ! 

But  this  is  growing  too  savage  :  don't  let  us  forget  our 
usual  amenity,  and  that  tone  of  playfulness  and  sentiment  with 
which  the  beloved  reader  and  writer  have  pursued  their  mutual 
reflections  hitherto.  Well,  Snobbishness  pervades  the  little 
"Social  farce  as  well  as  the  great  State  Comedy  ;  and  the  self- 
same moral  is  tacked  to  either. 

There  was,  for  instance,  an  account  in  the  papers  of  a  young 
lady  who,  misled  by  a  fortune-teller,  actually  went  part  of  the 
way  to  India  (as  far  as  Bagnigge  Wells,  I  think,)  in  search  of  a 
husband  who  was  promised  her  there.  Do  you  suppose  this 
poor  deluded  little  soul  would  have  left  her  shop  for  a  man  be- 
low her  in  rank,  or  for  anything  but  a  darling  of  a  Captain  in 
epaulets  and  a  red  coat  ?  It  was  her  Snobbish  sentiment  that 
misled  her,  and  made  her  vanities  a  prey  to  the  swindling  for- 
tune-teller. 

Case  2  was  that  of  Mademoiselle  de  Saugrenue,  "  the  in- 
teresting young  Frenchwoman  with  a  profusion  of  jetty  ringlets," 
who  lived  for  nothing  at  a  boarding-house  at  Gosport,  was  then 
conveyed  to  Fareham  gratis  :  and  being  there,  and  lying  on  the 
bed  of  the  good  old  lady  her  entertainer,  the  dear  girl  took  occa- 
sion to  rip  open  the  mattress,  and  steal  a  cash-box,  with  which 
she  fled  to  London.  How  would  you  account  for  the  prodigious 
benevolence  exercised  towards  the  interesting  young  French 
lady  ?  Was  it  her  jetty  ringlets  or  her  charming  face  ? — Bah  ! 
Do  ladies  love  others  for  having  pretty  faces  and  black  hair? — ■ 
she  said  she  was  a  relation  of  Lord  de  Saugrenue  :  talked  of 
her  ladyship  her  aunt,  and  of  herself  as  a  De  Saugrenue.  The 
honest  boarding-house  people  were  at  her  feet  at  once.  Good, 
honest,  simple,  lord-loving  children  of  Snobland. 

Finady,  there  was  the  case  of  *'  the  Right  Honorable  Mr. 
■Vernon,"  at  York.  The  Right  Honorable  was  the  son  of  a 
nobleman,  and  practised  on  an  old  Lady.     He  procured  from 


SNOBBIUM  GA  THE  RUM. 


355 


her  dinners,  money,  wearing-apparel,  spoons,  implicit  credence, 
and  an  entire  refit  of  linen.  Then  he  cast  his  nets  over  a  family 
of  father,  mother,  and  daughters,  one  of  whom  he  proposed  to 
marry.  The  father  lent  him  money,  the  mother  made  jams  and 
pickles  for  him,  the  daughters  vied  with  each  other  in  cooking 
dinners  for  the  Right  Honorable — and  what  was  the  end  'i 
One  day  the  traitor  fled,  with  a  teapot  and  a  basketful  of  cold 
victuals.  It  was  the  "Right  Honorable"  which  baited  the 
hook  which  gorged  all  these  greedy,  simple  Snobs.  Would 
they  have  been  taken  in  by  a  commoner  ?  What  old  lady  is 
there,  my  dear  sir,  who  would  take  in  you  and  me,  were  we  ever 
so  ill  to  do,  and  comfort  us,  and  clothe  us,  and  give  us  her 
money,  and  her  silver  forks  ?  Alas  and  alas  !  what  mortal  man 
that  speaks  the  truth  can  hope  for  such  a  landlady .''  And  yet, 
all  these  instances  of  fond  and  credulous  Snobbishness  have 
occurred  in  the  same  week's  paper,  with  who  knows  how  many 
score  more } 

Just  as  we  had  concluded  the  above  remarks  comes  a  pretty 
little  note  sealed  with  a  pretty  little  butterfly — bearing  a  nortli- 
ern  postmark — and  to  the  following  effect : — 

\<^th  November:. 

•"  Mr.  Punch, — 

"  Taking  great  interest  in  your  Snob  Papers,  we  are  very 
anxious  \xy  know  under  what  class  of  that  respectable  fraternity 
you  would  designate  us. 

"  We  are  three  sisters,  from  seventeen  to  twenty-two.  Our 
father  is  honestly  and  truly  of  a  very  good  family  (you  will  say 
it  is  Snobbish  to  mention  that,  but  I  wish  to  state  the  plain 
fact)  ;  our  maternal  grandfather  was  an  Earl.* 

"We  ca7i  afford  to  take  m  a  stamped  edition  d yon,  and  all 
Dickens'  works  as  fast  as  they  come  out,  but  we  do  not  keep 
such  a  thing  as  a  Peerage  or  even  a  Baronetage  in  the  house. 

"  We  live  with  every  comfort,  excellent  cellar,  &c.,  &c.  ;  but 
as  we  cannot  well  afford  a  butler,  we  have  a  neat  table-maid 
(though  our  father  was  a  military  man,  has  travelled  much, 
been  in  the  best  society,  &c.).  We  have  a  coachman  and  helper, 
but  we  don't  put  the  latter  into  buttons,  nor  make  them  wait 
at  table,  like  Stripes  and  Tummus.  f 

"  We  are  just  the  same  to  persons  with  a  handle  to  their 
name  as  to  those  without  it,  We  wear  a  moderate  modicum 
of  crinoline,  %  and  are  never  limp  §  in  the  morning.     We  have 

♦  The  introduction  of  Grandpapa  is,  I  fear,  Snobbish. 

t  That  is,  as  you  like.     I  don't  object  to  buttons  in  moderation. 

%  Quite  right.  §  Bless  you  I 

20* 


356  THF  BOOK'  OF  SNOBS. 

good  and  abundant  dinners  on  china  (though  we  have  plate  *), 
and  just  as  good  when  alone  as  with  company. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Air.  Punch,  will  you  please  give  us  a  short 
answer  in  your  next  number,  and  I  will  be  so  much  obliged  to 
you.  Nobody  knows  we  are  writing  to  you,  not  even  our  father ; 
nor  will  we  ever  tease  f  you  again  if  you  will  only  give  us  an 
answer — ^just  for  fun,  now  do  ! 

"  If  you  get  as  far  as  this,  which  is  doubtful,  you  will  proba- 
bly fling  it  into  the  fire.  If  you  do,  I  cannot  help  it ;  but  I  am 
of  a  sanguine  disposition,  and  entertain  a  lingering  hojDe.  At 
all  events,  I  shall  be  impatient  for  next  Sunday,  for  you  reach 
us  on  that  day,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  confess,  we  can?iot  resist 
opening  you  in  the  carriage  driving  home  from  church.  % 

"  I  remain,  &c.,  &c.,  for  myself  and  sisters. 
"  Excuse  this  scrawl,  but  I  always  write  headlong^  § 

"  P.S. — You  were  rather  stupid  last  week,  don't  you  think  ?  || 
We  keep  no  gamekeeper,  and  yet  have  always  abundant  game 
for  friends  to  shoot,  in  spite  of  the  poachers.  We  never  write 
on  perfumed  paper — in  short,  I  can't  help  thinking  that  if  you 
knew  us  you  would  not  think  us  Snobs.'' 

To  this  I  reply  in  the  following  manner: — "  My  dear  young 
ladies,  I  know  your  post-town  :  and  shall  be  at  church  there 
the  Sunday  after  next ;  when  you  will  please  to  wear  a  tulip  or 
some  litde  trifle  in  your  bonnets,  so  that  I  may  know  you  ? 
You  will  recognize  me  and  my  dress — a  quiet-looking  young 
fellow,  in  a  white  top-coat,  a  crimson  satin  neck-cloth,  light- 
blue  trousers,  with  glossy  tipped  boots,  and  an  emerald  iDreast- 
pin.  I  shall  have  a  black  crape  round  my  white  hat ;  and  my 
usual  bamboo  cane  with  the  richly-gilt  knob.  I  am  sorry  there 
will  be  no  time  to  get  up  mustaches  between  now  and  next  week. 

"  From  seventeen  to  two-and-twenty  !  Ye  gods  !  what  ages  ! 
Dear  young  creatures,  I  can  see  you  all  three.  Seventeen 
suits  me,  as  nearest  my  own  time  of  life  ;  but  mind,  I  don't  say 
two-and-twenty  is  too  old.  No,  no.  And  that  pretty,  roguish, 
demure,  middle  one.  Peace,  peace,  thou  silly  little  fluttering 
heart ! 

"  You  Snobs,  dear  young  ladies !  I  will  pull  any  man's 
nose  who  says  so.    There  is  no  harm  in  being  of  a  good  family, 

*  Snobbish  ;  and  I  doubt  whether  you  ought  to  dine  as  well  when  alone  as  with  con* 
pany.     Vou  will  be  getting  too  good  dinners. 
t  We  like  to  be  teased  ;  but  tell  papa. 

%  O  garters  and  stars!  what  will  Captain  Gordon  and  Exeter  Hall  say  to  this? 
§  Dear  little  enthusiast! 
II  Vou  were  never  more  mistaken,  Miss,  in  your  life.      » 


SNOBS  AND  MARRIAGE. 


357 


Vou  can't  help  it,  poor  dears.  What's  in  a  name  ?  What  is  in 
a  handle  to  it  ?  1  confess  openly  that  I  should  not  object  to 
being  a  Duke  myself ;  and  between  ourselves  you  might  see  a 
worse  leg  for  a  garter. 

"  Y^ou  Snobs,  dear  little  good-natured  things,  no  ! — that  is, 
I  hope  not — I  think  not — 1  won't  be  too  confident — none  of  us 
should  be — that  we  are  not  Snobs.  That  very  confidence 
savors  of  arrogance,  and  to  be  arrogant  is  to  be  a  Snob.  In 
all  the  social  gradations  from  sneak  to  tyrant,  nature  has 
placed  a  most  wondrous  and  various  progeny  of  Snobs.  But 
are  there  no  kindly  natures,  no  tender  hearts,  no  souls  humble, 
simple,  and  truth-loving  ?  Ponder  well  on  this  question,  sweet 
young  ladies.  And  if  you  can  answer  it,  as  no  doubt  you  can 
—lucky  are  you — and  lucky  the  respected  Herr  Papa,  and 
lucky  the  three  handsome  young  gentlemen  who  are  about  to 
become  each  others'  brothers-in-law." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

SNOBS     AND     MARRIAGE, 


Everybody  of  the  middle  rank  who  walks  through  this  life 
with  a  sympathy  for  his  companions  on  the  same  journey — at 
any  rate,  every  man  who  has  been  jostling  in  the  world  for 
some  three  or  four  lustres — must  make  no  end  of  melancholy 
reflections  upon  the  fate  of  those  victims  whom  Society,  that  is 
Snobbishness,  is  immolating  every  day.  With  love  and  sim- 
plicity and  natural  kindness  Snobbishness  is  perpetually  at 
war.  People  dare  not  be  happy  for  fear  of  Snobs.  People 
dare  not  love  for  fear  of  Snobs,  people  pine  away  lonely 
under  the  tyranny  of  Snobs.  Honest  kindly  hearts  dr}'  up  and 
die.  Gallant  generous  lads,  blooming  with  hearty  youth,  swell 
into  bloated  old-bacherlorhood,  and  burst  and  tumble  over. 
Tender  girls  wither  into  shrunken  decay,  and  perish  solitary, 
from  whom  Snobbishness  has  cut  off  the  common  claim  to  hap- 
piness and  affection  with  which  Nature  endowed  us  all.  My 
heart  grows  sad  as  I  see  the  blundering  tyrant's  handiwork. 
As  I  behold  it  I  swell  with  cheap  rage,  and  glow  with  fury 
against  the  Snob.  Come  down,  I  say,  thou  skulking  dulness ! 
Come  down,  thou  stupid  bully,  and  give  up  thy  brutal  ghost  1 


2^8  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

And  I  arm  myself  with  the  sword  and  spear,  and  taking  leave 
of  my  family,  go  forth  to  do  battle  with  that  hideous  ogre  and 
giant,  that  brutal  despot  in  Snob  Castle,  who  holds  so  many 
gentle  hearts  in  torture  and  thrall. 

When  Punch  is  king,  I  declare  there  shall  be  no  such  thing 
as  old  maids  and  old  bachelors.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Malthus 
shall  be  burned  annually,  instead  of  Guy  Fawkes.  Those  who 
don't  marry  shall  go  into  the  workhouse.  It  shall  be  a  sin  for 
the  poorest  not  to  have  a  pretty  girl  to  love  him. 

The  above  reflections  came  to  mind  after  taking  a  walk  with 
an  old  comrade,  Jack  Spiggot  by  name,  who  is  just  passing  into 
the  state  of  old-bachelorhood,  after  the  manly  and  blooming 
youth  in  which  I  remember  him.  Jack  was  one  of  the  hand- 
somest fellows  in  England  when  we  entered  together  in  the 
Highland  Buffs  ;  but  I  quitted  the  Cuttykilts  early,  and  lost 
sight  of  him  for  many  years. 

Ah  !  how  changed  he  is  from  those  days  !  He  wears  a 
waistband  now,  and  has  begun  to  dye  his  whiskers.  His  cheeks, 
which  were  red,  are  now  mottled  \  his  eyes,  once  so  bright  and 
steadfast,  are  the  color  of  peeled  plovers'  eggs. 

"  Are  you  married.  Jack  ?  "  says  I,  remembering  how  con- 
sumedly  in  love  he  was  with  his  cousin  Letty  Lovelace,  when 
the  Cuttykilts  were  quartered  at  Strathbungo  some  twenty 
years  ago. 

"Married?  no,"  says  he.  "Not  money  enough.  Hard 
enough  to  keep  myself,  much  more  a  family,  on  five  hundred  a 
year.  Come  to  Dickinson's ;  there's  some  of  the  best  Madeira 
in  London  there,  my  boy."  So  we  went  and  talked  over  old 
times.  The  bill  for  dinner  and  wine  consumed  was  prodigious, 
and  the  quantity  of  brandy-and-water  that  Jack  took  showed 
what  a  regular  boozer  he  was.  "  A  guinea  or  two  guineas. 
What  the  devil  do  I  care  what  I  spend  for  my  dinner  ?  " 
says  he. 

"  And  Letty  Lovelace  ?  "  says  I. 

Jack's  countenance  fell.  However,  he  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh  presently.  "  Letty  Lovelace  !  "  says  he.  "  She's  Letty 
Lovelace  still  ;  but  Gad,  such  a  wizened  old  woman  !  She's  as 
thin  as  a  thread-paper  ;  (you  remember  what  a  figure  she  had  :) 
her  nose  has  got  red,  and  her  teeth  blue.  She's  always  ill  ; 
always  quarrelling  with  the  rest  of  the  family  ;  always  psalm- 
singing,  and  always  taking  pills.  Gad,  I  had  a  rare  escape 
there.     Push  round  the  grog,  old  boy." 

Straightway  memory  went  back  to  the  days  when  Letty  was 
the  loveliest  of  blooming  young  creatures :  when  to  hear  her 


SNOBS  AND  MARRIAGE.  '  359 

Sing  was  to  make  the  heart  jump  into  your  throat ;  when  to 
see  her  dance,  was  better  than  Montessu  or  Noblet  (they  were 
the  Ballet  Queens  of  those  days)  ;  when  Jack  used  to  wear  a 
locket  of  her  hair,  with  a  little  gold  chain  round  his  neck,  and, 
exhilarated  with  toddy,  after  a  sederunt  of  the  Cuttykilt  mess, 
used  to  pull  out  this  token,  and  kiss  it,  and  howl  about  it,  to 
the  great  amusement  of  the  bottle-nosed  old  Major  and  the  rest 
of  the  table. 

"  My  father  and  hers  couldn't  put  their  horses  together," 
Jack  said.  "  The  general  wouldn't  come  down  with  more  than 
six  thousand.  My  governor  said  it  shouldn't  be  done  under 
eight.  Lovelace  told  him  to  go  and  be  hanged,  and  so  we 
parted  company.  They  said  she  was  in  a  decline.  Gammon ! 
She's  forty,  ancl  as  tough  and  as  sour  as  this  bit  of  lemon-peel. 
Don't  put  much  into  your  punch,  Snob  my  boy.  No  man  can 
stand  punch  after  wine." 

"  And  what  are  your  pursuits.  Jack  ?  "  says  I. 

"  Sold  out  when  the  governor  died.  Mother  lives  at  Bath. 
Go  down  there  once  a  year  for  a  week.  Dreadful  slow.  Shil- 
ling whist.  Four  sisters — all  unmarried  except  the  youngest — 
awful  work.  Scotland  in  August.  Italy  in  the  winter.  Cursed 
rheumatism.  Come  to  London  in  March,  and  toddle  about  at 
the  Club,  old  boy ;  and  we  won't  go  home  till  maw-aw-rning 
till  daylight  does  appear." 

"  And  here's  the  wreck  of  two  lives  !  "  mused  the  present 
Snobograph,  after  taking  leave  of  Jack  Spiggot.  "  Pretty  merry 
Letty  Lovelace's  rudder  lost  and  she  cast  away,  and  handsome 
Jack  Spiggot  stranded  on  the  shore  like  a  drunken  Trinculo." 

What  was  it  that  insulted  Nature  (to  use  no  higher  name), 
and  perverted  her  kindly  intentions  towards  them  ?  What 
cursed  frost  was  it  that  nipped  the  love  that  both  were  bearing, 
and  condemned  the  girl  to  sour  sterility,  and  the  lad  to  selfish 
old-bachelorhood  ?  It  was  the  infernal  Snob  tyrant  who  gov- 
erns us  all,  who  says,  '*  Thou  shalt  not  love  without  a  lady's- 
maid  ;  thou  shalt  not  marry  without  a  carriage  and  horses  ;  thou 
shalt  have  no  wife  in  thy  heart,  and  no  children  on  thy  knee, 
without  a  page  in  buttons  and  a  French  bonne  ;  thou  shalt  go 
to  the  devil  unless  thou  hast  a  brougham  ;  marry  poor,  and 
society  shall  forsake  thee ;  thy  kinsmen  shall  avoid  thee  as  a 
criminal ;  thy  aunts  and  uncles  shall  turn  up  their  eyes  and 
bemoan  the  sad,  sad  manner  in  which  Tom  or  Harry  has  thrown 
himself  away."  You,  young  woman,  may  sell  yourself  without 
shame,  and  marry  old  Croesus  ;  you,  young  man,  may  lie  away 
your  heart  and  your  life  for  a  jointure.     But  if  you  are  poor, 


360  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

woe  be  to  you  !  Society,  the  brutal  Snob  autocrat,  consigns 
you  to  solitary  perdition.  Wither,  poor  girl,  in  your  garret: 
rot,  poor  bachelor,  in  your  Club. 

When  I  see  those  graceless  recluses  —  those  unnatural 
monks  and  nuns  of  the  order  of  St.  Beelzebub,*  my  hatred  for 
Snobs,  and  their  worship,  and  their  idols,  passes  all  continence. 
Let  us  hew  down  that  man-eating  Juggernaut,  I  say,  that 
hideous  Dagon  ;  and  I  glow  with  the  heroic  courage  of  Tom 
Thumb,  and  join  battle  with  the  giant  Snob. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

SNOBS     AND     MARRIAGE. 


In  that  noble  romance  called  "  Ten  Thousand  a  Year,"  I 
remember  a  profoundly  pathetic  description  of  the  Christian 
manner  in  which  the  hero,  Mr.  Aubrey,  bore  his  misfortunes. 
After  making  a  display  of  the  most  florid  and  grandiloquent 
resignation,  and  quitting  his  country  mansion,  the  writer  sup- 
poses Aubrey  to  come  to  town  in  a  post-chaise  and  pair,  sitting 
bodkin  probably  between  his  wife  and  sister.  It  is  about  seven 
o'clock,  carriages  are  rattling  about,  knockers  are  thundering, 
and  tears  bedim  the  fine  eyes  of  Kate  and  Mrs.  Aubrey  as  they 
think  that  in  happier  times  at  this  hour — their  Aubrey  used 
formerly  to  go  out  to  dinner  to  the  houses  of  the  aristocracy  his 
friends.  This  is  the  gist  of  the  passage — the  elegant  words  I 
forget.  But  the  noble,  noble  sentiment  I  shall  always  cherish 
and  remember.  What  can  be  more  sublime  than  the  notion  of 
a  great  man's  relatives  in  tears  about — his  dinner  ?  With  a  few 
touches,  what  author  ever  more  happily  described  A  Snob.-* 

We  were  reading  the  passage  lately  at  the  house  of  my 
friend,  Raymond  (iray,  Esquire,  Barrister-at-Law,  an  ingenuous 
youth  without  the  least  practice,  but  who  has  luckily  a  great 
share  of  good  spirits,  which  enables  him  to  bide  his  time,  and 
bear  laughingly  his  humble  position  in  the  world.  Meanwhile, 
until  it  is  altered,  the  stern  laws  of  necessity  and  the  expenses 
of  the  Northern  Circuit  oblige  Mr.  Gray  to  live  in  a  very  tiny 

*  Tliip,  of  course,  is  understood  to  apply  only  to  those  unmarried  persons  whom  a  mean 
and  Snobbish  fear  about  money  has  kept  fro'm  fulfilling  their  natural  destiny.  Many  persons 
there  are  devoted  to  celibacy  because  they  cannot  help  it.  Of  these  a  man  would  be  a  bruto 
who  spoke  roughly.  Indeed,  after  Miss'O'Toole's  conduct  to  the  writer,  he  would  be  the 
last  to  condemn.     But  never  mind,  these  are  personal  matters. 


SNOBS  AND  MARRIAGE.  361 

iiansion  in  a  very  queer  small  square  in  the  airy  neighborhood 
of  Gray's  Inn  Lane. 

What  is  the  more  remarkable  is,  that  Gray  has  a  wife  there. 
Mrs.  Gray  was  a  Miss  Harley  Baker  :  and  I  suppose  I  need 
not  say  that  is  a  respectable  family.  Allied  to  the  Cavendishes, 
the  Oxfords,  the  Marrybones,  they  still,  though  rather  dechus 
from  their  original  splendor,  hold  their  heads  as  high  as  any. 
Mrs.  Harley  Baker,  I  know,  never  goes  to  church  without  John 
behind  to  carry  her  prayer-book ;  nor  will  Miss  Welbeck,  her 
sister,  walk  twenty  yards  a-shopping  without  the  protection  of 
Figby,  her  sugar-loaf  page  ;  though  the  old  lady  is  as  ugly 
as  any  woman  in  the  parish  and  as  tall  and  whiskery  as  a 
grenadier.  The  astonishment  is,  how  Emily  Harley  Baker 
could  have  stooped  to  marry  Raymond  Gray.  She,  who  was 
the  prettiest  and  proudest  of  the  family  ;  she,  who  refused  Sir 
Cockle  Byles,  of  the  Bengal  Service  ;  she,  who  turned  up  her 
little  nose  at  Essex  Temple,  Q.  C,  and  connected  with  the 
noble  house  of  Albyn  ;  she,  who  h:id  but  4,000/.  potir  tout 
potage,  to  marry  a  man  who  had  scarcely  as  much  more.  A 
scream  of  wrath  and  indignation  was  uttered  by  the  whole 
family  when  they  heard  of  this  mesalHatice.  Mrs.  Harley  Baker 
never  speaks  of  her  daughter  now  but  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  as  a  ruined  creature.  Miss  Welbeck  says,  "  I  consider 
that  man  a  villain;"  and  has  denounced  poor  good-natured 
Mrs.  Perkins  as  a  swindler,  at  whose  ball  the  young  people 
met  for  the  first  time. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gray,  meanwhile,  live  in  Gray's  Inn  Lane 
aforesaid,  with  a  maid-servant  and  a  nurse,  whose  hands  are 
very  full,  and  in  a  most  provoking  and  unnatural  state  of  hap- 
piness. They  have  never  once  thought  of  crying  about  their 
dinner,  like  the  wretchedly  puling  and  Snobbish  w'omankind  of 
my  favorite  Snob  Aubrey,  of  "  Ten  Thousand  a  Year  ; "  but,  on 
the  contraiy,  accept  such  humble  victuals  as  fate  awards  them 
with  a  most  perfect  and  thankful  good  grace — nay,  actually 
have  a  portion  for  a  hungry  friend  at  times — as  the  present 
writer  can  gratefully  testify. 

I  was  mentioning  these  dinners,  and  some  admirable  lemon 
puddings  which  Mrs.  Gray  makes,  to  our  mutual  friend  the 
great  Mr.  Goldmore,  the  East  India  Director,  when  that  gentle- 
man's face  assumed  an  expression  of  almost  apoplectic  teiror, 
and  he  gasped  out,  "What!  Do  they  give  dinners?"'  He 
seemed  to  think  it  a  crime  and  a  wonder  that  such  people 
should  dine  at  all,  and  that  it  was  their  custom  to  huddle  round 
their  kitchen-fire  over  a  bone  and  a  crust.     Whenever  he  meets 


262  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

them  ill  society,  it  is  a  matter  of  wonder  to  him  (and  he  always 
expresses  his  surprise  very  loud)  how  the  lady  can  appear 
decently  dressed,  and  the  man  have  an  unpatched  coat  to  his 
back.  I  have  heard  him  enlarge  upon  this  poverty  before  the 
whole  room  at  the  "  Conflagrative  Club,"  to  which  he  and  I 
and  Gray  have  the  honor  to  belong. 

We  meet  at  the  Club  on  most  days.  At  half-past  four, 
Goldmore  arrives  in  St.  James's  Street  from  the  City,  and  you 
may  see  him  reading  the  evening  papers  in  the  bow-window  of 
the  Club,  which  enfilades  Pall  Mall — a  large  plethoric  man,  with 
a  bunch  of  seals  in  a  large  bow-windowed  light  waistcoat.  He 
has  large  coat-tails,  stuffed  with  agents'  letters  and  papers 
about  companies  of  which  he  is  a  Director.  His  seals  jingle  as 
he  walks.  I  wish  I  had  such  a  man  for  an  uncle,  and  that  he 
himself  were  childless.  I  would  love  and  cherish  him,  and  be 
kind  to  him. 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  full  season,  when  all  the  world  is  in 
St.  James's  Street,  and  the  carriages  are  cutting  in  and  out 
among  the  cabs  on  the  stand,  and  the  tufted  dandies  are  show- 
ing their  listless  faces  out  of  "  White's,"  and  you  see  respecta- 
ble gray-headed  gentlemen  waggling  their  heads  to  each  other 
through  the  plate-glass  windows  of  "  Arthur's  :  "  and  the  red- 
coats wish  to  be  Briareian,  so  as  to  hold  all  the  gentlemen's 
horses  ;  and  that  wonderful  red-coated  royal  porter  is  sunning 
himself  before  Marlborough  House  ; — at  the  noon  of  London 
time,  you  see  a  light-yellow  carriage  with  black  horses,  and  a 
coachman  in  a  tight  floss-silk  wig,  and  two  footmen  in  powder 
and  white  andyellow  liveries,  and  a  large  woman  inside  in  shot- 
silk,  a  poodle,  and  a  pink  parasol,  which  drives  up  to  the  gate 
of  the  "  Conflagrative,"  and  the  page  goes  and  says  to  Mr. 
Goldmore  (who  is  perfectly  aware  of '  the  fact,  as  he  is  looking 
out  of  the  windows  with  about  forty  other  "  Conflagrative  " 
bucks),  "  Your  carriage.  Sir."  G.  wags  his  head.  "  Remember, 
eight  o'clock  precisely,"  says  he  to  Mulligatawney,  the  other 
East  India  Director;  and,  ascending  the  carriage,  plumps  down 
by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Goldmore  for  a  drive  in  the  Park,  and  then 
home  to  Portland  Place.  As  the  carriage  whirls  off,  all  the 
young  bucks  in  the  Club  feel  a  secret  elation.  It  is  a  part  of 
their  establishment,  as  it  were.  That  carriage  belongs  to  their 
Club,  and  their  Club  belongs  to  them.  They  follow  the 
equipage  with  interest ;  they  eye  it  knowingly  as  they  see  it  in 
the  Park.  But  halt !  we  are  not  come  to  the  Club  Snobs  yet. 
O  my  brave  Snobs,  what  a  flurry  there  will  be  among  you  when 
those  papers  appear  ! 


SNOBS  AND  MARRIAGE.  363 

Well,  you  may  judge,  from  the  above  description,  what  sort 
of  a  man  Goldmore  is.  A  dull  and  pompous  Leadenhall  Street 
Croesus,  good-natured  withal,  and  affable  —  cruelly  affable. 
"  Mr.  Goldmore  can  never  forget,"  his  lady  used  to  say,  "  that 
it  was  Mrs.  Gray's  grandfather  who  sent  him  to  India  ;  and 
though  that  young  woman  has  made  the  most  inprudent  marriage 
in  the  world,  and  has  left  her  station  in  society,  her  husband 
seems  an  ingenious  and  laborious  young  man,  and  we  shall  do 
everything  in  our  power  to  be  of  use  of  him."  So  they  used  to 
ask  the  Grays  to  dinner  twice  or  thrice  in  a  season,  when,  by 
way  of  increasing  the  kindness.  Buff,  the  butler,  is  ordered  to 
hire  a  fly  to  convey  them  to  and  from  Portland  Place. 

Of  course  I  am  much  too  good-natured  a  friend  of  both  par^ 
ties  not  to  tell  Gray  of  Goldmore's  opinion  regarding  him,  and 
the  nabob's  astonishment  at  the  idea  of  the  briefless  barrister 
having  any  dinner  at  all.  Indeed,  Goldmore's  saying  became 
a  joke  against  Gray  amongst  us  wags  at  the  Club,  and  we  used 
to  ask  him  when  he  tasted  meat  last?  whether  we  should  bring 
him  home  something  from  dinner  ?  and  cut  a  thousand  other 
mad  pranks  with  him  in  our  facetious  way. 

One  day,  then,  coming  home  from  the  Club,  Mr.  Gray  con- 
veyed to  his  wife  the  astounding  information  that  he  had  asked 
Goldmore  to  dinner. 

"  My  love,"  says  Mrs.  Gray,  in  a  tremor,  "  how  could  you 
be  so  cruel  ?  Why,  the  dining-room  won't  hold  Mrs.  Gold- 
more." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy,  Mrs.  Gray ;  her  ladyship  is  in 
Paris.  It  is  only  Croesus  that's  coming,  and  we  are  going  to 
the  play  afterwards — to  Sadler's  Wells.  Goldmore  said  ?»t  the 
Club  that  he  thought  Shakspeare  was  a  great  dramatic  poet, 
and  ought  to  be  patronized  ;  whereupon,  fired  with  enthusiam, 
I  invited  him  to  our  banquet. 

"  Goodness  gracious  !  what  can  we  give  him  for  dinner  ? 
He  has  two  French  cooks  ;  you  know  Mrs.  Goldmore  is  always 
telling  us  about  them  ;  and  he  dines  with  Aldermen  everyday." 

'"  A  plain  leg  of  mutton,  my  Lucy, 
I  prythee  get  ready  at  three  ; 
Have  it  tender,  and  smoking,  and  juicy. 
And  what  better  meat  can  there  be  ? '  " 

says  Gray,  quoting  my  favorite  poet. 

"  But  the  cook  is  ill ;  and  you  know  that  horrible  Pattypan 
the  pastry-cook's " 

"  Silence,  Frau  !  "  says  Gray,  in  a  deep  tragedy  voice.  "  / 
will  have  the  ordering  of  this  repast.     Do  all  things  as  I  bid 


364  ^-^-^  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

thee.     Invite  our  friend  Snob  here  to  partake  of  the  feast.    Be 
mine  the  task  of  procuring  it." 

"  Don't  be  expensive,  Raymond,"  says  his  wife, 
"  Peace,  thou  timid  partner  of  the  briefless  one.  Gold- 
more's  dinner  shall  be  suited  to  our  narrow  means.  Only  do 
thou  in  all  things  my  commands."  And  seeing  by  the  peculiar 
expression  of  the  rogue's  countenance,  that  some  mad  waggery 
was  in  preparation,  I  awaited  the  morrow  with  anxiety. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

SNOBS      AND      MARRIAGE 


Punctual  to  the  hour — (by  the  way,  I  cannot  omit  here  to 
mark  down  my  hatred,  scorn,  and  indignation  towards  those 
miserable  Snobs  who  come  to  dinner  at  nine,  when  they  are 
asked  at  eight,  in  order  to  make  a  sensation  in  the  company. 
May  the  loathing  of  honest  folks,  the  backbiting  of  others,  the 
curses  of  cooks,  pursue  these  wretches,  and  avenge  the  society 
on  which  they  trample  !) — Punctual,  I  say,  to  the  hour  of  five, 
which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raymond  Gray  had  appointed,  a  youth  of 
an  elegant  appearance,  in  a  neat  evening-dress,  whose  trim 
whiskers  indicated  neatness,  whose  light  step  denoted  activity 
(for  in  sooth  he  was  hungry,  and  always  is  at  the  dinner  hour, 
whatsoever  that  hour  may  be),  and  whose  rich  golden  hair, 
curling  down  his  shoulders,  was  set  off  by  a  perfectly  new  four- 
and-ninepenny  silk  hat,  was  seen  wending  his  way  down  Bittle- 
stone  Street,  Bittlestone  Square,  Gray's  Inn.  The  person  in 
question,  I  need  not  say,  was  Mr.  Snob.  He  is  never  late 
when  invited  to  dine.     But  to  proceed  with  my  narrative  : — 

Although  Mr.  Snob  may  have  flattered  himself  that  he  made 
a  sensation  as  he  strutted  down  Bittlestone  Street  with  his 
richly  gilt  knobbed  cane  (and  indeed  I  vow  I  saw  heads  look- 
ing at  me  from  Miss  Squilsby's,  the  brass-plated  milliner  oppo- 
site Raymond  Gray's,  who  has  three  silver-paper  bonnets,  and 
two  fly-blown  French  prints  of  fashion  in  the  window),  yet  what 
was  the  emotion  produced  by  my  arrival,  compared  to  that  with 
which  the  little  street  thrilled,  when  at  five  minutes  past  five 
the  floss-wigged  coachman,  the  yellow  hammer-cloth  and 
flunkeys,  the  black  horses  and  blazing  silver  harness  of  Mr. 


SiVOBS  AxYD  MARRIAGE  365 

Golclmore  whirled  down  the  street !  It  is  a  very  little  street,  of 
very  little  houses,  most  of  them  with  very  large  brass  plates 
like  Miss  Squilsby's.  Coal  merchants,  architects  and  survey- 
ors, two  surgeons,  a  solicitor,  a  dancing-master,  and  of  course 
several  house-agents,  occupy  the  houses — little  two-storeyed 
edifices  with  little  stucco  porticoes.  Goldmore's  carriage  over- 
topped the  roofs  almost ;  the  first  floors  might  shake  hands 
with  Crcesus  as  he  lolled  inside  ;  all  the  windows  of  those  first 
floors  thronged  with  children  and  women  in  a  twinkling.  There 
was  Mrs.  Hammerly  in  curl-papers  ;  Mrs.  Saxby  with  her  front 
awry  j  Mr.  Wriggles  peering  through  the  gauze  curtains,  holding 
the  while  his  hot  glass  of  rum-and-water — in  fine,  a  tremendous 
commotion  in  Bittlestone  Street,  as  the  Goldmore  carriage 
drove  up  to  Mr.  Raymond  Gray's  door. 

"  How  kind  it  is  of  him  to  come  with  both  the  footmen  ]  " 
says  little  Mrs.  Gray,  peeping  at  the  vehicle  too.  The  huge 
domestic,  descending  from  his  perch,  gave  a  wrap  at  the  door 
which  almost  drove  in  the  building.  All  the  heads  were  out  j 
the  sun  was  shining  ;  the  very  organ-boy  paused  ;  the  footman, 
the  coach,  and  Goldmore's  red  face  and  white  waistcoat  were 
blazing  in  splendor.  The  herculean  plushed  one  went  back  to 
open  the  carriage  door. 

Raymond  Gray  opened  his — in  his  shirt-sleeves. 

He  ran  up  to  the  carriage.  **  Come  in,  Goldmore,"  says 
he  ;  "just  in  time,  my  boy.  Open  the  dooi%  What-d'ye-caU'um, 
and  let  your  master  out,"  —  and  What-d'ye-caH'um  obeyed 
mechanically,  with  a  face  of  wonder  and  horror  only  to  bo 
equalled  by  the  look  of  stupefied  astonishment  which  orna- 
mented the  purple  countenance  of  his  master. 

"Wawt  taim  will  you  please  have  the  cage,  sir?^'  says 
What-d'ye-call'um,  in  that  peculiar,  unspellable,  inimitable, 
flunkefied  i^ronunciation,  which  forms  one  of  the  chief  charms 
of  existence. 

"  Best  have  it  to  the  theatre  at  night,"  Gray  exclaims  ;  "  it 
is  but  a  step  from  here  to  the  Wells,  and  we  can  walk  there. 
I've  got  tickets  for  all.     Be  at  Sadler's  Wells  at  eleven." 

"  Yes,  at  eleven,  exclaims  Goldmore,  perturbedly,  and  walks 
with  a  flurried  step  into  the  house,  as  if  he  were  going  to  execu- 
tion (as  indeed  he  was,  with  that  wicked  Gray  as  a  Jack  Ketch 
over  him).  The  carriage  drove  away,  followed  by  numberless 
eyes  from  doorsteps  and  balconies ;  its  appearance  is  still  a 
wonder  in  Bittlestone  Street. 

"  Go  in  there,  and  amuse  yourself  with  Snob,"  says  Gray, 
opening  the  little  drawing-room  tloor,     ''  I'll  call  out  as  soon 


366  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

as  the  chops  are  ready.  Fanny's  below,  seeing  to  the  pud- 
ding." 

"  Gracious  mercy  !  "  says  Goldmore  to  me,  quite  confiden- 
tially, "  how  could  he  ask  us  .''  I  really  had  no  idea  of  this-— 
this  utter  destitution." 

"  Dinner,  dinner  !  "  roars  out  Gray,  from  the  dining-room, 
whence  issued  a  great  smoking  and  frying  ;  and  entering  that 
apartment  we  find  Mrs.  Gray  ready  to  receive  us,  and  looking 
perfectly  like  a  Princess  who,  by  some  accident,  had  a  bowl  of 
potatoes  in  her  hand,  which  vegetables  she  placed  on  the  table. 
Her  husband  was  meanwhile  cooking  mutton-chops  on  a  grid- 
iron over  the  fire. 

"  Fanny  has  made  the  roly-poly  pudding,"  says  he  ;  "  the 
chops  are  my  part.  Here's  a  fine  one  ;  try  this,  Goldmore." 
And  he  popped  a  fizzing  cutlet  on  that  gentleman's  plate. 
What  words,  what  notes  of  exclamation  can  describe  the 
nabob's  astonishment  ? 

The  table-cloth  was  a  very  old  one,  darned  in  a  score  of 
places.  There  was  mustard  in  a  teacup,  a  silver  fork  for  Gold- 
more — all  ours  were  iron. 

"  I  wasn't  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  my  mouth,"  says 
Gray,  gravely.  "  That  fork  is  the  only  one  we  have.  Fanny 
has  it  generally." 

"  Raymond  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Gray,  with  an  imploring  face. 

"  She  was  used  to  better  things,  you  know  •  and  I  hope  one 
day  to  get  her  a  dinner-service.  I'm  told  the  electro-plate  is 
uncommonly  good.  Where  the  deuce  is  that  boy  with  the  beer  ? 
And  now,"  said  he,  springing  up,  "  I'll  be  a  gentleman."  And 
so  he  put  up  his  coat,  and  sat  down  quite  gravely,  with  four 
fresh  mutton-chops  which  he  had  by  this  time  broiled. 

"  We  don't  have  meat  every  day,  Mr.  Goldmore,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  and  it's  a  treat  to  me  to  get  a  dinner  like  this.  You 
little  know,  you  gentlemen  of  England,  who  live  at  home  at 
ease,  what  hardships  briefless  barristers  endure." 

"  Gracious  mercy  !  "  says  Mr.  Goldmore. 

"  Where's  the  half-and-half  ?  Fanny,  go  over  to  the  '  Keys ' 
and  get  the  beer.  Here's  sixpence."  And  what  was  our 
astonishment  when  Fanny  got  up  as  if  to  go  ! 

"  Gracious  mercy  !  let  me"  cries  Goldmore. 

"  Not  for  worlds,  my  dear  sir.  She's  used  to  it.  They 
wouldn't  serve  you  as  well  as  they  serve  her.  Leave  her  alone. 
Law  bless  you  !  "  Raymond  said,  with  astounding  composure. 
And  Mrs.  Gray  left  the  room,  and  actually  came  back  with  a 
tray  on  which  there  was  a  pewter  flagon  of  beer.     Little  Polly 


SNOBS  AND  MARRIAGE.  ,5- 

(to  whom,  at  her  christening,  I  had  the  honor  of  presenting  a 
uh.'cr  mug  ex  officio)  followed  with  a  couple  of  tobacco  pipes, 
and  the  queerest  roguish  look  in  her  round  little  chubby  face. 

•'  Did  you  speak  to  Tapling  about  the  gin,  Fanny,  my  dear?" 
Gray  asked,  after  bidding  Polly  put  the  pipes  on  the  chimney- 
piece,  which  that  little  person  had  some  difficulty  in  reaching* 
"  The  last  was  turpentine,  and  even  your  brewing  didn't  make 
good  punch  of  it." 

You  would  hardly  suspect,  Goldmore,  that  my  wife,  a 
Harley  Baker,  would  ever  make  gin-punch  >  I  think  my 
mother-in-law  would  commit  suicide  if  she  saw  her." 

"  Don't  be  always  laughing  at  mamma,  Raymond,"  says 
Mrs.  Gray, 

"  Well,  well,  she  wouldn't  die,  and  I  do7i't  wish  she  w^ould. 
And  you  don't  make  gin-punch,  and  you  don't  like  it  either — 
and — Goldmore,  do  you  drink  your  beer  out  of  the  glass,  or 
out  of  the  pewter  ?  " 

"  Gracious  mercy  !  "  ejaculates  Croesus  once  more,  as  little 
Polly,  taking  the  pot  with  both  her  little  bunches  of  hands, 
offers  It,  smiling,  to  that  astonished  Director. 

And  so,  in  a  word,  the  dinner  commenced,  and  was  pres- 
ently ended  in  a  similar  fashion.  Gray  pursued  his  unfor- 
tunate guest  with  the  most  queer  and  outrageous  description 
of  his  struggles,  misery,  and  poverty.  He  deiscribed  how  ha 
cleaned  the  knives  when  they  were  first  married  ;  and  how  he 
used  to  drag  the  children  in  a  little  cart ;  how  his  wife  could 
toss  pancakes  ;  and  what  part  of  his  dress  she  made.  He  told 
Tibbits,  his  clerk  (who  was  in  fact  the  functionary  who  had 
brought  the  beer  from  the  public-house,  which  Mrs.  Fanny  had 
fetched  from  the  neighboring  apartment) — to  fetch  "  the  bottle 
of  port-wine,"  when  the  dinner  was  over ;  and  told  Goldmore 
as  wonderful  a  history  about  the  w^ay  in  which  that  bottle  of 
wine  had  come  into  his  hands  as  any  of  his  former  stories  had 
been.  When  the  repast  was  all  over,  and  it  was  near  time  to 
move  to  the  play,  and  Mrs.  Gray  had  retired,  and  we  were 
sitting  ruminating  rather  silently  over  the  last  glasses  of  the 
port,  Gray  suddenly  breaks  the  silence  by  slapping  Goldmore 
on  the  shoulder,  and  saying,  "  Now,  Goldmore,  tell  me  some- 
thing." 

"  What  ?  "  asks  Croesus. 

"  Haven't  you  had  a  good  dinner  ?  " 

Goldmore  started,  as  if  a  sudden  truth  had  just  dawned 
upon  him.  He  had  had  a  good  dinner ;  and  didn't  know  it  until 
then.     The  three  mutton-chops  consumed  by  him  were  best  of 


368 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


the  mutton  kind  ;  the  potatoes  were  perfect  of  their  order  ;  a3 
for  the  roly-poly,  it  was  too  good.  The  porter  was  frothy  and 
cool,  and  the  port-wine  was  worthy  of  the  gills  of  a  bishop.  I 
speak  with  ulterior  views  ;  for  there  is  more  in  Gray's  cellar. 

"  Well,"  says  Goldmore,  after  a  pause,  during  which  he  took 
time  to  consider  the  momentous  question  Gray  put  to  him — > 
"  'Pon  my  word — now  you  say  so — I — I  have — I  really  have 
had  a  monsous  good  dinnah — monsous  good,  upon  my  ward  ! 
Here's  your  health,  Gray  my  boy,  and  your  amiable  lady  ;  and 
when  Mrs.  Goldmore  comes  back,  I  hope  we  shall  see  you  more 
in  Portland  Place."  And  with  this  the  time  came  for  the  play, 
and  we  went  to  see  Mr.  Phelps  at  Sadler's  Wells. 

The  best  of  this  story  (for  the  truth  of  every  word  of  which 
I  pledge  my  honor)  is,  that  after  this  banquet,  which  Goldmore 
enjoyed  so,  the  honest  fellow  felt  a  prodigious  compassion  and 
regard  for  the  starving  and  miserable  giver  of  the  feast,  and 
determined  to  help  him  in  his  profession.  And  being  a  Director 
of  the  newly-established  Antibilious  Life  Assurance  Company, 
he  has  had  Gray  appointed  Standing  Counsel,  with  a  pretty 
annual  fee  ;  and  only  yesterday,  in  an  appeal  from  Bombay 
(Buckmuckjee  Bobbachee  v.  Ramchowder-Bahawder)  in  the 
Privy  Council,  Lord  Brougham  complimented  Mr.  Gray,  who 
was  in  the  case,  on  his  curious  and  exact  knowledge  of  the 
Sanscrit  language. 

Whether  he  knows  Sanscrit  or  not,  I  can't  say  ;  but  Gold- 
more  got  him  the  business  ;  and  so  I  cannot  help  having  a 
lurking  regard  for  that  pompous  old  Bigwig. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

SNOBS     AND     MARRIAGE. 


"  We  Bachelors  in  N_mbs  are  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  says 
my  old  school  and  college  companion,  Essex  Temple,  "  for 
the  opinion  which  you  hold  of  us.  You  call  us  selfish,  purple- 
faced,  bloated,  and  other  pretty  names.  You  state,  in  the  sim- 
plest possible  terms,  that  we  shall  go  to  the  deuce.  You  bid 
us  rot  in  lonelinesS;  and  deny  us  all  claims  to  honesty,  conduct, 
decent  Christian  life.  Who  are  you,  Mr.  Snob,  to  judge  us 
so  1  Who  are  you,  with  your  infernal  benevolent  smirk  and 
grin,  that  laugh  at  all  our  generation  ? 


SJVOBS  AND  MARRIAGE.  369 

"  I  will  tell  you  my  case,"  says  Essex  Temple  ;  "  mine  and 
my  sister  Polly's,  and  you  may  make  what  you  like  of  it ;  and 
sneer  at  old  maids,  and  bully  old  bachelors,  if  you  will. 

''  I  will  whisper  to  you  confidentially  that  my  sister  Polly 
was  engaged  to  Sergeant  Shirker — a  fellow  whose  talents  one 
cannot  deny,  and  be  hanged  to  them,  but  whom  I  have  always 
known  to  be  mean,  selfish,  and  a  prig.  However,  women  don't 
see  these  faults  in  the  men  whom  Love  throws  in  their  way. 
Shirker,  who  has  about  as  much  warmth  as  an  eel,  made  up  to 
Polly  years  and  years  ago,  and  was  no  bad  match  for  a  brief- 
less barrister,  as  he  was  then. 

"  Have  you  ever  read  Lord  Eldon's  Life  ?  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  the  sordid  old  Snob  narrates  his  going  out  to  purchase 
twopence  worth  of  sprats,  which  he  and  Mrs.  Scott  fried  be- 
tween them  ?  And  how  he  parades  his  humility,  and  exhibits 
his  miserable  poverty — he  who,  at  that  time,  must  have  been 
making  a  thousand  pounds  a  year  ?  Well,  Shirker  was  just  as 
proud  of  his  prudence — just  as  thankful  for  his  own  meanness, 
and  of  course  would  not  marry  without  a  competency.  Who 
so  honorable  .''  Polly  waited,  and  waited  faintly,  from  year  to 
year.  He  wasn't  sick  at  heart ;  his  passion  never  disturbed  his 
six  hours'  sleep,  or  kept  his  ambition  out  of  mind.  He  would 
rather  have  hugged  an  attorney  any  day  than  have  kissed  Polly, 
though  she  was  one  of  the  prettiest  creatures  in  the  world  ;  and 
while  she  was  pining  alone  up  stairs,  reading  over  the  stock  of 
half  a  dozen  frigid  letters  that  the  confounded  prig  had  conde- 
scended to  write  to  her,  he,  be  sure,  was  never  busy  with  any- 
thing but  his  briefs  in  chambers — always  frigid,  rigid,  self-sat- 
isfied, and  at  his  duty.  The  marriage  trailed  on  year  after 
year,  while  Mr.  Serjeant  Shirker  grew  to  be  the  famous  lawyer 
he  is. 

"  Meanwhile,  my  younger  brother.  Pump  Temple,  who  was 
in  the  120th  Hussars,  and  had  the  same  little  patrimony  which 
fell  to  the  lot  of  myself  and  Polly,  must  fall  in  love  with  our 
cousin,  Fanny  Figtree,  and  marry  her  out  of  hand.  You  should 
have  seen  the  wedding  !  Six  bridesmaids  in  pink,  to  hold  the 
fan,  bouquet,  gloves,  scent-bottle,  and  pocket-handkerchief  of 
the  bride  ;  basketfuls  of  white  favors  in  the  vestry,  to  be  pinned 
on  to  the  footmen  and  horses  ;  a  genteel  congregation  of  curi- 
ous acquaintance  in  the  pews,  a  shabby  one  of  poor  on  the 
steps  ;  all  the  carriages  of  all  our  acquaintance,  whom  Aunt 
Figtree  had  levied  for  the  occasion  ;  and  of  course  four  horses 
for  Mr.  Pump's  bridal  vehicle. 

"  Then  comes  the  breakfast,  or  dejeHner,  if  you  please,  with 


37° 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


a  brass  band  in  the  street,  and  policemen  to  keep  order.  The 
happy  bridegroom  spends  about  a  year's  income  in  dresses  for 
the  bridesmaids  and  pretty  presents ;  and  the  bride  must 
have  a  trousseau  of  laces,  satins,  jewel-boxes  and  tomfoolery, 
to  make  her  fit  to  be  a  lieutenant's  wife.  There  was  no  hesita- 
tion about  Pump.  He  flung  about  his  money  as  if  it  had  been 
dross ;  and  Mrs.  P.  Temple,  on  the  horse  Tom  Tiddler,  which 
her  husband  gave  her,  was  the  most  dashing  of  military  women 
at  Brighton  or  Dublin.  How  old  Mrs.  Figtree  used  to  bore 
me  and  Polly  with  stories  of  Pump's  grandeur  and  the  noble 
company  he  kept !  Polly  lives  with  the  Figtrees,  as  I  am  not 
rich  enough  to  keep  a  home  for  her. 

"  Pump  and  I  have  always  been  rather  distant.  Not  having 
the  slightest  notions  about  horseflesh,  he  has  a  natural  con- 
tempt for  me  ;  and' in  our  mother's  lifetime,  when  the  good  old 
lady  was  always  paying  his  debts  and  petting  him,  I'm  not  sure 
there  was  not  a  little  jealousy.  It  used  to  be  Polly  that  kept 
the  peace  between  us. 

"  She  went  to  Dublin  to  visit  Pump,  and  brought  back 
grand  accounts  of  his  doings — gayest  man  about  town — Aide- 
de-Camp  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant — Fanny  admired  everywhere 
— Her  Excellency  godmother  to  the  second,  boy  :  the  eldest 
with  a  string  of  aristocratic  Christian  names  that  made  the 
grandmother  wild  with  delight.  Presently  Fanny  and  Pump 
obligingly  came  over  to  London,  where  the  third  was  born. 

"  Polly  was  godmother  to  this,  and  who  so  loving  as  she  and 
Pump  now?  'Oh,  Essex,'  says  she  to  me,  'he  is  so  good,  so 
generous,  so  fond  of  his  family  ;  so  handsome  ;  who  can  help 
loving  him,  and  pardoning  his  little  errors  ? '  One  day,  while 
Mrs,  Pump  was  yet  in  the  upper  regions,  and  Doctor  Finger- 
fee's  brougham  at  her  door  every  day,  having  business  at 
Guildhall,  whom  should  I  meet  in  Cheapside  but  Pump  and 
Polly  .'*  The  poor  girl  looked  more  happy  and  rosy  than  I  have 
seen  her  these  twelve  years.  Pump,  on  the  contrary,  was  rather 
blushing  and  embarrassed. 

"I  couldn't  be  mistaken  in  her  face  and  its  look  of  mischief 
and  triumph.  She  had  been  committing  some  act  of  sacrifice. 
I  went  to  the  family  stockbroker.  She  had  sold  out  two 
thousand  pounds  tliat  morning  and  given  them  to  Pump. 
Quarrelling  was  useless — Pump  had  the  money  ;  he  was  off  to 
Dublin  by  the  time  I  reached  his  mother's,  and  Polly  radiant 
still.  He  was  going  to  make  his  fortune  ;  he  was  going  to 
smbark  the  money  in  the  Bog  of  Allen — I  don't  know  what. 
The  fact  is,  he  was  going  to  pay  his  losses  upon  the  last  Man- 


SNOBS  AND  MARRIAGE. 


37» 


Chester  steeple-chase,  and  I  leave  you  to  imagine  how  much 
principal  or  interest  poor  Polly  ever  saw  back  again. 

"  It  was  more  than  half  her  fortune,  and  he  has  had  anothei 
thousand  since  from  her.  Then  came  efforts  to  stave  off  ruin 
and  prevent  exposure ;  struggles  on  all  our  parts,  and  sacrifices, 
that"  (here  Mr.  Essex  Temple  began  to  hesitate)  —  "that 
needn't  be  talked  of ;  but  they  are  of  no  more  use  than  such 
sacrifices  ever  are.  Pump  and  his  wife  are  abroad — I  don't 
like  to  ask  where ;  Polly  has  the  three  children,  and  Mr. 
Sergeant  Shirker  has  formally  written  to  break  off  an  engage- 
ment, on  the  conclusion  of  which  Miss  Temple  must  herself 
have  speculated,  when  she  alienated  the  greater  part  of  her 
fortune. 

"  And  here's  your  famous  theory  of  poor  marriages  !  "  Essex 
Temple  cries,  concluding  the  above  history.  "  How  do  you 
know  that  I  don't  want  to  marry  myself  ?  How  do  you  dare 
sneer  at  my  poor  sister  ?  What  are  we  but  martyrs  of  the 
reckless  marriage  system  which  Mr.  Sncb,  forsooth,  chooses  to 
advocate  ?  "  And  he  thought  he  had  tiie  better  of  the  argu- 
ment, which,  strange  to  say,  is  not  my  opinion. 

But  for  the  infernal  Snob-worship,  might  not  every  one  of 
these  people  be  happy?  If  poor  Polly's  happiness  lay  in  link- 
ing her  tender  arms  round  such  a  heartless  prig  as  the  sneak 
who  has  deceived  her,  she  might  have  been  happy  now — as 
happy  as  Raymond  Raymond  in  the  ballad,  with  the  stone 
statue  by  his  side.  She  is  wretched  because  Mr.  Sergeant 
Shirker  worships  -money  and  ambition,  and  is  a  Snob  and  a 
coward. 

If  the  unfortunate  Pump  Temple  and  his- giddy  hussy  of  a 
wife  have  ruined  themselves,  and  dragged  down  others  into 
their  calamity,  it  is  because  they  loved  rank,  and  horses,  and 
plate,  and  carriages,  and  Courf  Guides,  and  millinery,  and  would 
sacrifice  all  to  attain  those  objects. 

And  who  misguides  them  ?  If  the  -world  were  more  simple, 
would  not  those  foolish  people  follow  the  fashion  ?  Does  not 
the  world  love  Coitrt  Guides,  and  millinery,  and  plate,  and 
carriages  ?  Mercy  on  us  !  Read  the  fashionable  intelligence ; 
read  the  Court  Circular;  read  the  genteel  novels;  survey  man- 
kind, from  Pimlico  to  Red  Lion  Square,  and  see  how  the  Poor 
Snob  is  aping  the  Rich  Snob  ;  how  the  Mean  Snob  is  grovelling 
at  the  feet  of  the  Proud  Snob;  and  the  Great  Snob  is  lording 
it  over  his  humble  brother.  Does  the  idea  of  equality  ever 
enter  Dives'  head  ?  Will  it  ever  ?  Will  the  Duchess  of  Fitz- 
battleaxe  (I  like  a  good  name)  ever  believe  that  Lady  Croesus, 

21 


272  ^-^^  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

her  next-door  neighbor  in  Belgrave  Square,  is  as  good  a  lady  as 
her  Grace  ?  Will  Lady  Croesus  ever  leave  off  pining  for  the 
Duchess's  parties,  and  cease  patronizing  Mrs.  Broadcloth, 
whose  husband  has  not  got  his  Baronetcy  yet  ?  Will  Mrs. 
Broadcloth  ever  heartily  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Seedy,  and 
give  ujD  those  odious  calculations  about  poor  dear  Mrs.  Seedy's 
income  ?  Will  Mrs.  Seedy,  who  is  starving  in  her  great  house, 
go  and  live  comfortably  in  a  little  one,  or  in  lodgings  ?  Will 
her  landlady,  Mrs.  Letsam,  ever  stop  wondering  at  the  famili 
arity  of  tradespeople,  or  rebuking  the  insolence  of  Suky,  the 
maid,  who  wears  flowers  under  her  bonnet,  like  a  lady  ? 

But  why  hope,  why  wish  for  such  times  ?  Do  I  wish  all 
Snobs  to  perish  ?  Do  I  wish  these  Snob  papers  to  determine  ? 
Suicidal  fool,  art  not  thou,  too,  a  Snob  and  a  brother  ? 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

CLUB    SNOBS. 


As  I  wish  to  be  particularly  agreeable  to  the  ladies  (to  whom 
I  make  my  most  humble  obeisance),  we  will  now,  if  you  please, 
commence  maligning  a  class  of  Snobs  against  whom,  I  believe, 
most  female  minds  are  embittered, — I  mean  Club  Snobs.  I 
have  very  seldom  heard  even  the  most  gentle  and  placable 
woman  speak  without  a  little  feeling  of  bitterness  against  those 
social  institutions,  those  palaces  swaggering  in  St.  James's, 
which  are  open  to  the  men  ;  while  the  ladies  have  but  their 
dingy  three-windowed  brick  boxes  in  Belgravia  or  in  Padding- 
tonia,  or  in  the  region  between  the  road  of  Edgeware  and  that 
of  Gray's  Inn. 

In  my  grandfather's  time  it  used  to  be  Freemasonry  that 
roused  their  anger.  It  was  my  grand-aunt  (whose  portrait  we 
still  have  in  the  family)  who  got  into  the  clock-case  at  the  Royal 
Rosicrucian  Lodge  at  Bungay,  Suffolk,  to  spy  the  proceedings 
of  the  Societv,  of  which  her  husband  was  a  member,  and  being 
frightened  by  the  sudden  whirring  and  striking  eleven  of  the 
clock  (just  as  the  Deputy-Grand-Master  was  bringing  in  the 
mystic  gridiron  for  the  reception  of  a  neophyte),  rushed  out 
into  the  midst  of  the  lodge  assembled  ;  and  was  elected,  by  a 
desperate  unanimity,  Deputy-Grand-Mistress  for  life.     Though 


CLUB  SNOBS. 


373 


that  admirable  and  courageous  female  never  subsequently 
breathed  a  word  with  regard  to  the  secrets  of  the  initiation,  yet 
she  inspired  all  our  family  with  such  a  terror  regarding  the 
mysteries  of  Jachin  and  Boaz,  that  none  of  our  family  have 
ever  since  joined  the  Society,  or  worn  the  dreadful  Masonic 
insignia. 

It  is  known  that  Orpheus  was  torn  to  pieces  by  some  justly 
indignant  Thracian  ladies  for  belonging  to  an  Harmonic  Lodge. 
"  Let  him  go  back  to  Eurydice,"  they  said,  "  whom  he  is  pre- 
tending to  "regret  so."  But  the  history  is  given  in  Dr.  Lem- 
priere's  elegant  dictionary  in  a  manner  much  more  forcible  than 
any  which  this  feeble  pen  can  attempt.  At  once,  then,  and 
without  verbiage,  let  us  take  up  this  subject-matter  of  Clubs. 

Clubs  ought  not,  in  my  mind,  to  be  permitted  to  bachelors. 
If  my  friend  of  the  Cuttykilts  had  not  our  Club,  the  "  Union 
Jack,"  to  go  to  (I  belong  to  the  "  U.  J."  and  nine  other  similar 
institutions),  who  knows  but  he  never  would  be  a  bachelor  at 
this  present  moment  ?  Instead  of  being  made  comfortable,  and 
cockered  up  with  every  luxury,  as  they  are  at  Clubs,  bachelors 
ought  to  be  rendered  profoundly  miserable,  in  my  opinion. 
Every  encouragement  should  be  given  to  the  rendering  their 
spare  time  disagreeable.  There  can  be  no  more  odious  object, 
according  to  my  sentiments,  than  young  Smith,  in  the  pride  of 
health,  commanding  his  dinner  of  three  courses  .;  than  middle- 
aged  Jones  wallowing  (as  I  may  say)  in  an  easy  padded  arm- 
chair, over  the  last  delicious  novel  or  brilliant  magazine  ;  or 
than  old  Brown,  that  selfish  old  reprobate  for  whom  mere  litera- 
ture has  no  charms,  stretched  on  the  best  sofa,  sitting  on  the 
second  edition  of  The  Times,  having  the  Morning  Chronicle 
between  his  knees,  the  ZT^rrt-A/ pushed  in  between  his  coat  and 
waistcoat,  the  Standard  under  his  left  arm,  the  Globe  under  the 
other  pinion,  and  the  Daily  Netus  in  perusal.  "  I'll  trouble  you 
for  Punch,  Mr.  Wiggins,"  says  the  unconscionable  old  gorman- 
dizer, interrupting  our  friend,  who  is  laughing  over  the  periodi- 
cal in  question. 

This  kind  of  selfishness  ought  not  to  be.  No,  no.  Yoinig 
Smith,  instead  of  his  dinner  and  his  wine,  ought  to  be,  where  ? — ■ 
at  the  festive  tea-table,  to  be  sure,  by  the  side  of  Miss  Higgs, 
sipping  the  bohea,  or  tasting  the  harmless  muffin  ;  while  old 
Mrs.  Higgs  looks  on,  pleased  at  their  innocent  dalliance,  and 
my  friend  Miss  Wirt,  the  governess,  is  performing  Thalberg's 
last  sonata  in  treble  X.,  totally  unheeded,  at  the  piano. 

Where  should  the  middle-aged  Jones  be  ?  At  his  time  of 
life,  he  ought  to  be  the  father  of  a  family.     At  such  an  hour — 


274  ^-^^  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

say,  at  nine  o'clock  at  night — the  nursery-bell  should  have  just 
rung  the  children  to  bed.  He  and  Mrs.  J.  ought  to  be,  by 
rights,  seated  on  each  side  of  the  fire  by  the  dining-room  table, 
a  bottle  of  port-wine  between  them,  not  so  full  as  it  was  an 
hour  since.  Mrs.  J.  has  had  two  glasses  ;  Mrs.  Grumble  (Jones's 
mother-in-law)  has  had  three :  Jones  himself  has  finished  the 
rest,  and  dozes  comfortably  until  bedtime. 

And  Brown,  that  old  newspaper-devouring  miscreant,  what 
right  has  he  at  a  club  at  a  decent  hour  of  night  1  He  ought  to 
be  playing  his  rubber  with  Miss  MacWhirter,  his  wife,  and  the 
family  apothecary.  His  candle  ought  to  be  brought  to  him  at 
ten  o'clock,  and  he  should  retire  to  rest  just  as  the  young  people 
were  thinking  of  a  dance.  How  much  finer,  simpler,  nobler  are 
the  several  employments  I  have  sketched  out  for  these  gentle- 
men than  their  present  nightly  orgies  at  the  horrid  Club. 

And,  ladies,  think  of  men  who  do  not  merely  frequent  the 
dining-room  and  library,  but  who  use  other  apartments  of  those 
horrible  dens  which  it  is  my  purpose  to  batter  down  ;  think  of 
Cannon,  the  wretch,  with  his  coat  off,  at  his  age  and  size,  clat- 
tering the  balls  over  the  billiard-table  all  night,  and  making  bets 
with  that  odious  Captain  Spot ! — think  of  Pam  in  a  dark  room 
with  Bob  Trumper,  Jack  Deuceace,  and  Charley  Vole,  playing, 
the  poor  dear  misguided  wretch,  guinea  points  and  five  pounds 
on  the  rubber! — above  all,  think — oh,  think  of  that  den  of 
abomination,  which,  I  am  told,  has  been  established  in  so7ne 
clubs,  called  the  Smoking-Rootn, — think  of  the  debauchees  who 
congregate  there,  the  quantities  of  reeking  whiskey-punch  or 
more  dangerous  sherry-cobbler  which  they  consume  ; — think  of 
them  coming  home  at  cock-crow  and  letting  themselves  into 
the  quiet  house  with  the  Chubb  key ;  think  of  them,  the  hypo- 
crites, taking  off  their  insidious  boots  before  they  slink  up  stairs, 
the  children  sleeping  overhead,  the  wife  of  their  bosom  alone 
with  the  waning  rushlight  in  the  two-pair  front — that  chamber 
so  soon  to  be  rendered  hateful  by  the  smell  of  their  stale  cigars  ! 
I  am  not  an  advocate  of  violence ;  I  am  not,  by  nature,  of  an 
incendiary  turn  of  mind ;  but  if,  my  dear  ladies,  you  are  for 
assassinating  Mr.  Chubb  and  burning  down  the  Club-houses  in 
St.  James's,  there  is  one  Snob  at  least  who  will  not  think  the 
worse  of  you. 

The  only  men  who,  as  I  opine,  ought  to  be  allowed  the  use 
of  Clubs,  are  married  men  without  a  profession.  The  continual 
presence  of  these  in  a  house  cannot  be  thought,  even  by  the 
most  uxorious  of  wives,  desirable.  Say  the  girls  are  beginning 
to  practise  their  music,  which,  in  an  honorable  English  family, 


CLUB  SNOBS. 


375 


ought  to  occupy  every  young  gentlewoman  three  hours  ;  it 
would  be  rather  hard  to  call  upon  poor  papa  to  sit  in  the  draw- 
ing-room  all  that  time,  and  listen  to  the  interminable  discords 
and  shrieks  which  are  elicited  from  the  miserable  piano  during 
the  above  necessary  operation.  A  man  with  a  good  ear, 
especially,  would  go  mad,  if  compelled  daily  to  submit  to  this 
horror. 

Or  suppose  you  have  a  fancy  to  go  to  the  milliner's  or  to 
Howell  and  James's,  it  is  manifest,  my  dear  Madam,  that  your 
husband  is  much  better  at  the  Club  during  these  operations 
than  by  your  side  in  the  carriage,  or  perched  in  wonder  upon 
one  of  the  stools  at  Shawl  and  Gimcrack's,  whilst  young  coun- 
ter-dandies are  displaying  their  wares. 

This  sort  of  husbands  should  be  sent  out  after  breakfast, 
and  if  not  Members  of  Parliament,  or  Directors  of  a  Railroad, 
or  an  Insurance  Company,  should  be  put  into  their  Clubs,  and 
told  to  remain  there  until  dinner-time.  No  sight  is  more  agree- 
able to  my  truly  well-regulated  mind  than  to  see  the  noble 
characters  so  worthily  employed.  Whenever  I  pass  by  St. 
James's  Street,  having  the  privilege,  like  the  rest  of  the  world, 
of  looking  in  at  the  windows  of  "  Blight's,"  or  "  Foodie's,"  or 
"  Snook's,"  or  the  great  bay  at  the  "  Contemplative  Club,"  I 
behold  with  respectful  appreciation  the  figures  within  —  the 
honest  rosy  old  fogies,  the  mouldy  old  dandies,  the  waist-belts 
and  glossy  wigs  and  tight  cravats  of  those  most  vacuous  and 
respectable  men.  Such  men  are  best  there  during  the  day- 
time, surely.  When  you  part  with  them,  dear  ladies,  think 
of  the  rapture  consequent  on  their  return.  You  have  transacted 
your  household  affairs  ;  you  have  made  your  purchases  ;  you 
have  paid  your  visits  ;  you  have  aired  your  poodle  in  the  Park  ; 
your  French  maid  has  completed  the  toilette  which  renders  you 
so  ravishingly  beautiful  by  candlelight,  and  you  are  fit  to  make 
home  pleasant  to  him  who  has  been  absent  all  day. 

Such  men  surely  ought  to  have  the  Clubs,  and  we  will  not 
class  them  among  Club  Snobs  therefore  : — on  whom  let  us  re* 
serve  our  attack  for  the  next  chapter. 


376  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

CLUB    SNOBS, 

Such  a  sensation  has  been  created  in  the  Clubs  by  the 
appearance  of  the  last  paper  on  Club  Snobs,  as  can't  but  be 
complimentary  to  me  who  am  one  of  their  number. 

I  belong  to  many  Clubs.  The  "  Union  Jack,"  the  "  Sash 
and  Marlin-spike  " — Military  Clubs.  "The  True  Blue,"  the 
"No  Surrender,"  the  "Blue  and  BufT,"  the  "GuyFawkes," 
and  the  "  Cato  Street  "— PoUtical  Clubs.  The  "  Brummell  " 
and  the  "  Regent  " — Dandy  Clubs.  The  "  Acropolis,"  the 
"Palladium,"  the  "Areopagus,"  the  Pnyx,"  the  "  Pentelicus," 
the  "  Ilissus,"  and  the  "  Poluphloisboio  Thalasses  " — Literary 
Clubs.  I  never  could  make  out  how  the  latter  set  of  Clubs 
got  their  names ;  /  don't  know  Greek  for  one,  and  I  wonder 
how  many  other  members  of  those  institutions  do  ? 

Ever  since  the  Club  Snobs  have  been  announced,  I  observe 
a  sensation  created  on  my  entrance  into  any  one  of  these  places. 
Members  get  up  and  hustle  together ;  they  nod,  they  scowl,  as 
they  glance  towards  the  present  Snob.  "  Infernal  impudent 
jackanapes  !  If  he  shows  me  up,"  says  Colonel  Bludyer,  "  I'll 
break  every  bone  in  his  skin."  "I  told  you  what  would  come 
of  admitting  literary  men  into  the  Club,"  says  Ranville  Ran- 
ville  to  his  colleague,  Spooney,  of  the  Tape  and  Sealing-Wax 
Office.  "These  people  are  very  well  in  their  proper  places, 
and  as  a  public  man,  I  make  a  point  of  shaking  hands  with 
them,  and  that  sort  of  thing  ;  but  to  have  one's  privacy  obtruded 
upon  by  such  people  is  really  too  much.  Come  along.  Spooney," 
and  the  pair  of  prigs  retire  superciliously. 

As  I  came  into  the  coffee-room  at  the  "  No  Surrender," 
old  Jawkins  was  holding  out  to  a  knot  of  men,  who  were  yawn- 
ing as  usual.  There  he  stood,  waving  the  Standard,  and  swag- 
gering before  the  fire.  "What,"  says  he,  "  did  I  tell  Peel  last 
year?  If  you  touch  the  Corn  Laws,  you  touch  the  Sugar  Ques- 
tion \  if  you  touch  the  Sugar,  you  touch  the  Tea.  I  am  no 
monopolist.  I  am  a  liberal  man,  but  I  cannot  forget  that  I 
stand  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice  ;  and  if  we  are  to  have  Free 
Trade, -give  me  reciprocity.  And  what  was  Sir  Robert  Peel's 
answer  to  me  .?     '  Mr.  Jawkins,'  he  said " 

Here  Jawkins's  eye  suddenly  turning  on  your  humble   sen 


CLUB  SNOBS. 


377 


vant,  he  stopped  his  sentence,  with  a  guilty  look — his  stale 
old  stupid  sentence,  which  every  one  of  us  at  the  Club  has 
heard  over  and  over  again, 

Jawkins  is  a  most  pertinacious  Club  Snob.  Every  day  he 
is  at  that  fireplace,  holding  ih?il  Standard,  of  which  he  reads  up 
the  leading-article,  and  pours  it  out  ore  rotunda,  with  the  most 
astonishing  composure,  in  the  face  of  his  neighbor,  who  has 
just  read  every  word  of  it  in  the  paper.  Jawkins  has  money, 
as  you  may  see  by  the  tie  of  his  neck-cloth.  He  passes  the 
morning  in  swaggering  about  the  City,  in  bankers'  and  brokers' 
parlors,  and  says  : — "  I  spoke  with  Peel  yesterday,  and  his  in- 
tentions are  so  and  so.  Graham  and  I  were  talking  over  the 
matter,  and  I  pledge  you  my  word  of  honor,  his  opinion  coin- 
cides with  mine  ;  and  that  What-d'ye-call-'um  is  the  only  meas- 
ure Government  will  'venture  on  trying."  By  evening-paper 
time  he  is  at  the  Club  :  "  I  can  tell  you  the  opinion  of  the  City, 
my  lord,"  says  he,  "  and  the  way  in  which  Jones  Loyd  looks 
at  it  is  briefly  this ;  Rothschilds  told  me  so  themselves.  In 
Mark  Lane,  people's  minds  are  quite  made  up."  He  is  con- 
sidered rather  a  well-informed  man. 

He  lives  in  Belgravia,  of  course ;  in  a  drab-colqred  genteel 
house,  and  lias  everything  about  him  that  is  properly  grave,  dis- 
mal, and  comfortable.  His  dinners  are  in  the  Morning  Herald, 
among  the  parties  for  the  week ;  and  his  wife  and  daughters 
make  a  very  handsome  appearance  at  the  Drawing-Room,  once 
a  year,  when  he  comes  down  to  the  Club  in  his  Deputy-Lieu- 
tenant's uniform. 

He  is  fond  of  beginning  a  speech  to  you  by  saying,  "When 
I  was  in  the  House,  I,  &c." — in  fact  he  sat  for  Skittlebur}'  for 
three  weeks  in  the  first  Reformed  Parliament,  and  was  unseated 
for  bribery  ;  since  which  he  has  three  times  unsuccessfully  con- 
tested that  honorable  borough. 

Another  sort  of  Political  Snob  I  have  seen  at  most  Clubs, 
and  that  is  the  man  who  does  not  care  so  much  for  home  poli- 
tics, but  is  great  upon  foreign  affairs.  I  think  this  sort  of  man 
is  scarcely  found  anywhere  but  in  Clubs.  It  is  for  him  the 
papers  provide  their  foreign  articles,  at  the  expense  of  some 
ten  thousand  a  5'ear  each.  He  is  the  man  who  is  really  seriously 
uncomfortable  about  the  designs  of  Russia,  and  the  atrocious 
treachery  of  Louis  Philippe.  He  it  is  who  expects  a  French 
fleet  in  the  Thames,  and  has  a  constant  eye  upon  the  American 
President,  every  word  of  whose  speech  (goodness  help  him  !)  he 
reads.  He  knows  the  names  of  the  contending  leaders  in  Portu- 
gal, and  what  they  are  fighting  about :  and  it  is  he  who  says  that 


378 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


I,ord  Aberdeen  ought  to  be  impeached,  and  Lord  Palmerston 
hanged,  or  vice  versa. 

Lord  Palmerston's  being  sold  to  Russia,  the  exact  number 
of  roubles  paid,  by  what  house  in  the  City,  is  a  favorite  theme 
with  this  kind  of  Snob.  I  once  overheard  him — it  was  Captain 
Spitfire,  R.  N.,  (who  had  been  refused  a  ship  by  the  Whigs,  by 
the  way) — indulging  in  the  following  conversation  with  Mr. 
Minns  after  dinner  : 

"  Why  wasn't  the  Princess  Scragamoffsky  at  Lady  Palmer- 
ston's party,  Minns  ?  Because  she  can't  show — and  why  can't 
she  show  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  Minns,  why  she  can't  show  ?  The 
Princess  Scragamoffsky's  back  is  flayed  alive,  Minns — I  tell  you 
it's  raw,  sir!  On  Tuesday  last,  at  twelve  o'clock,  three  drum- 
mers of  the  Preobajinski  Regiment  arrived  at  Ashburnham 
House,  and  at  half-past  twelve,  in  the  yellow  drawing-room  at  the 
Russian  Embassy,  before  the  ambassadress  and  four  ladies'- 
maids,  the  Greek  Papa,  and  the  Secretary  of  Embassy,  Ma- 
dame de  Scragamoffsky  received  thirteen  dozen.  She  was 
knouted,  sir,  knouted  in  the  midst  of  England — in  Berkeley 
Square,  for  having  said  that  the  Grand  Duchess  Olga's  hair 
was  red.  And  now,  sir,  will  you  tell  me  Lord  Palmerston  ought 
to  continue  Minister  ?  " 

Minns  :  "  Good  Ged  !  " 

Minns  follows  Spitfire  about,  and  thinks  him  the  greatest 
and  wisest  of  human  beings. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

CLUB    SNOBS. 


Why  does  not  some  great  author  write  "  The  Mysteries  of 
the  Club-houses  ;  or  St.  James's  Street  unveiled."  It  would  be 
a  fine  subject  for  an  imaginative  writer.  We  must  all,  as  boys, 
remember  when  we  went  to  the  fair,  and  had  spent  all  our 
money — the  sort  ef  awe  and  anxiety  with  which  we  loitered 
round  the  outside  of  the  show,  speculating  upon  the  nature  of 
the  entertainment  going  on  within. 

Man  is  a  Drama — of  Wonder  and  Passion,  and  Mystery 
and  Meanness,  and  Beauty  and  Truthfulness,  and  Etcetera. 
Each  Bosom  is  a  Booth  in  Vanity  Fair.     But  let  us  stop  this 


CLUB  SNOBS. 


Z19 


capital  style,  I  should  die  if  I  kept  it  up  for  a  column  (a  pretty 
thing  a  column  all  capitals  would  be,  by  the  way).  In  a  Club, 
though  there  mayn't  be  a  soul  of  your  acquaintance  in  the  room, 
you  have  always  the  chance  of  watching  strangers,  and  specula- 
ting on  what  is  going  on  within  those  tents  and  curtains  of  their 
souls,  their  coats  and  waistcoats.  This  is  a  never-failing  sport. 
Indeed  I  am  told  there  are  some  Clubs  in  the  town  where  no- 
body ever  speaks  to  anybody.  They  sit  in  the  coffee-room, 
quite  silent,  and  watching  each  other. 

Yet  how  little  you  can  tell  from  a  man's  outward  demeanor  ! 
There's  a  man  at  our  Club — large,  heav}',  middle-aged — gor- 
geously dressed — rather  bald — with  lackered  boots — and  a  boa 
when  he  goes  out  ;  quiet  in  demeanor,  always  ordering  and  con- 
suming a  r.rherche  little  dinner :  whom  I  have  mistaken  for  Sir 
John  Pocklington  any  time  these  five  years,  and  respected  as  a 
man  with  five  hundred  •^omw^'s per  diem  ;  and  I  find  he  is  but  a 
clerk  in  an  office  in  the  City,  with  not  two  hundred  pounds  in- 
come, and  his  name  is  Jubber.  Sir  John  Pockiington  was,  on 
the  contrary,  the  dirty  little  snuffy  man  who  cried  out  so  about 
the  bad  quality  of  the  beer,  and  grumbled  at  being  overcharged 
three-halfpence  for  a  herring,  seated  at  the  next  table  to  Jubber 
on  the  day  wdien  some  one  pointed  the  Baronet  out  to  me. 

Take  a  different  sort;  of  mystery.  I  see,  for  instance,  old 
Fawney  stealing  round  the  rooms  of  the  Club,  with  glassy, 
meaningless  e3'es,  and  an  endless  greasy  simper — he  fawns  on 
everybody  he  meets,  and  shakes  hands  with  you,  and  blesses 
you,  and  betrays  tlie  most  tender  and  astonishing  interest  in 
your  welfare.  You  know  him  to  be  a  quack  and  a  rogue,  and 
he  knows  you  know  it.  But  he  wriggles  on  his  way,  and  leaves 
a  track  of  slimy  flattery  after  him  wherever  he  goes.  Who  can 
penetrate  that  man's  mystery  ?  What  earthly  good  can  he  get 
from  you  or  me .-'  You  don't  know  what  is  working  under  that 
leering  tranquil  mask.  You  have  only  the  dim  instinctive  re- 
pulsion that  warns  you,  you  are  in  the  presence  of  a  knave — 
beyond  which  fact  all  Favvney's  soul  is  a  secret  to  you. 

I  think  I  like  to  speculate  on  the  young  men  best.  Their 
play  is  opener.  You  know  the  cards  in  their  hand,  as  it  were. 
Take,  for  example,  Messrs.  Spavin  and  Cockspur. 

A  specimen  or  two  of  the  above  sort  of  young  fellows  may 
be  found,  I  believe,  at  most  Clubs.  They  know  nobody.  They 
bring  a  fine  smell  of  cigars  into  the  room  with  them,  and  they 
growl  together,  in  a  corner,  about  sporting  matters.  They  rec- 
ollect the  history  of  that  short  period  in  which  they  have  been 
ornaments  of  the  world  by  names  of  winning  horses.     Aspoliti- 

2  1* 


380  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

cal  men  talk  about  "  the  Reform  year,"  "  the  year  the  Whigs 
went  out,"  and  so  forth,  these  young  sporting  bucks  of  Tarna- 
tioti's  year,  or  Opodeldoc's  year,  or  the  year  when  Cata7va?npns 
ran  second  for  the  Chester  Cup.  They  play  at  billiards  in  the 
morning,  they  absorb  pale  ale  for  breakfast,  and  "  top  up  "  with 
glgsses  of  strong  waters.  They  read  Bell's  Life  (and  a  very 
pleasant  paper  too,  with  a  great  deal  of  erudition  in  the  an- 
swers to  correspondents).  They  go  down  to  Tattersall's,  and 
swagger  in  the  Park,  with  their  hands  plunged  in  the  pockets 
of  their  paletots. 

What  strikes  me  especially  in  the  outward  demeanor  of  sport- 
ing youth  is  their  amazing  gravity,  their  conciseness  of  speech, 
and  care-worn  and  moody  air.  In  the  smoking-room  at  the 
"  Regent,"  when  Joe  Millerson  will  be  setting  the  whole  room 
in  a  roar  with  laughter,  you  hear  young  Messrs.  Spavin  and 
Cockspur  grumbling  together  in  a  corner.  "  I'll  take  your 
five-and-twenty  to  one  about  Brother  to  Bluenose,"  whispers 
Spavin.  "  Can't  do  it  at  the  price,"  Cockspur  says,  wagging 
his  head  ominously.  The  betting-book  is  always  present  in  the 
minds  of  those  unfortunate  youngsters.  I  think  I  hate  that 
work  even  more  than  the  "  Peerage."  There  is  some  good  in 
the  latter — though,  generally  speaking,  a  vain  record  ;  though 
De  Mogyns  is  not  descended  from  Uie  giant  Hogyn  Mogyn  ; 
though  half  the  other  genealogies  are  equally  false  and  foolish  j 
yet  the  mottoes  are  good  reading — some  of  them  ;  and  the  book 
itself  a  sort  of  gold-laced  and  liveried  lackey  to  History,  and  in 
so  far  serviceable.  But  what  good  ever  came  out  of,  or  went 
into,  a  betting-book  ?  If  I  could  be  Caliph  Omar  for  a  week,  I 
would  pitch  every  one  of  those  despicable  manuscripts  into  the 
flames  ;  from  my  Lord's,  who  is  "in  "  with  Jack  Snaffle's  stable, 
and  is  over-reaching  worse-informed  rogues  and  swindling 
greenhorns,  down  to  Sam's,  the  butcher-boy's,  who  books 
eighteenpenny  odds  in  the  tap-room,  and  "  stands  to  win  five- 
and-twenty  bob." 

In  a  turf  transaction,  either  Spavin  or  Cockspur  would  try 
to  get  the  better  of  his  father,  and,  to  gain  a  point  in  the  odds, 
victimize  his  best  friends.  One  day  we  shall  hear  of  one  or 
other  levanting  \  an  event  at  which,  not  being  sporting  men, 
we  shall  not  break  our  hearts.  See — Mr.  Spavin  is  settling  his 
toilette  previous  to  departure  ;  giving  a  curl  in  the  glass  to  his 
side-wisps  of  hair.  Look  at  him  !  It  is  only  at  the  hulks,  or 
among  turf-men,  that  you  ever  see  a  face  so  mean,  so  knowing, 
and  so  gloomy. 

A  much  more  humane  beins:  amons:  the  vouthful  Clubbists 


CLUB  SNOBS.  381 

is  the  Lady-killing  Snob.     I  saw  Wiggle  just  now  in  the  dress- 
ing-room, talking  to  Waggle,  his  inseparable. 

Waggle. — "  Ton  my  honor,  Wiggle,  she  did." 
Wiggle. — "  Well,  Waggle,  as  you  say — I  own  I  think  she  did 
look  at  me  rather  kindly.     We'll  see   to-night  at  the  French 
play." 

And  having  arrayed  their  little  persons,  these  two  harmless 
young  bucks  go  up  stairs  to  dinner. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

CLUB    SNOBS. 


Both  sorts  of  young  men,  mentioned  in  my  last  under  the 
flippant  names  of  Wiggle  and  Waggle,  may  be  found  in  toler- 
able plenty,  I  think,  in  Clubs.  Wiggle  and  Waggle  are  both 
idle.  They  come  of  the  middle  classes.  One  of  them  very 
likely  makes  believe  to  be  a  barrister,  and  the  other  has  smart 
apartments  about  Piccadilly.  They  are  a  sort  of  second-chop 
dandies ;  they  cannot  imitate  that  superb  listlessness  of  de- 
meanor, and  that  admirable  vacuous  folly  which  distinguishes 
the  noble  and  high-born  chiefs  of  the  race  ;  but  they  lead  lives 
almost  as  bad  (were  it  but  for  the  example),  and  are  personally 
quite  as  useless.  I  am  not  going  to  arm  a  thunderbolt,  and 
launch  it  at  the  heads  of  these  little  Pall  Mall  butterflies.  They 
don't  commit  much  public  harm,  or  private  extravagance.  They 
don't  spend  a  thousand  pounds  for  diamond  earrings  for  an 
Opera-dancer,  as  Lord  Tarquin  can  :  neither  of  them  ever  set 
up  a  public-house  or  broke  the  bank  of  a  gambling-club,  like 
the  young  Earl  of  Martingale.  They  have  good  points,  kind 
feelings,  and  deal  honorably  in  money  transactions— only  in 
their  characters  of  men  of  second-rate  pleasure  about  town,  they 
and  their  like  are  so  utterly  mean,  self-contented,  and  absurd, 
that  they  must  be  omitted  in  a  work  treating  on  Snobs. 

Wiggle  has  been  abroad,  where  he  gives  you  to  understand 
that  his  success  among  the  German  countesses  and  Italian 
princesses,  whom  he  met  at  the  tahles-d hbte,  was  perfectly  ter- 
rific. His  rooms  are  hung  round  with  pictures  of  actresses  and 
ballet-dancers.  He  passes  his  mornings  in  a  fine  dressing-gown, 
burning  pastilles,  and  reading  "  Don  Juan,"  and  French  novels 
(^bythe  way,  the  life  of  the  author  of  'Don  Juan,"  as  described 


382  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

by  himself,  was  the  model  of  the  life  of  a  Snob).  He  has  two- 
penny halfpenny  French  prints  of  women  with  languishing  eyes, 
dressed  in  dominoes, — guitars,  gondolas,  and  so  forth, — and 
tells  you  stories  about  them. 

"  It's  a  bad  print,"  says  he,  *'  I  know,  but  I've  a  reason  for 
liking  it.  It  reminds  me  of  somebody — somebody  I  knew  in 
other  climes.  You  have  heard  of  the  Principessa  di  Monte 
Pulciano  ?  I  met  her  at  Rimini.  Dear,  dear  Francesca ! 
That  fair-haired,  bright-eyed  thing  in  the  Bird  of  Paradise  and 
the  Turkish  Simar  with  the  love-bird  on  her  finger,  I'm  sure  must 
have  been  taken  from — from  somebody  perhaps  whom  you  don't 
know — but  she's  known  at  Munich,  Waggle,  my  boy, — every- 
body knows  the  Countess  Ottilia  di  Eulenschreckenstein.  Gad, 
sir,  what  a  beautiful  creature  she  was  when  I  danced  with  her 
on  the  birthday  of  Prince  Attila  of  Bavaria,  in  '44.  Prince 
Carloman  was  our  vis-a-vis,  and  Prince  Pepin  danced  the  same 
contredafise.  She  had  a  Polyanthus  in  her  bouquet.  Waggle,  / 
have  it  110^0."  His  countenance  assumes  an  agonized  and  mys- 
terious expression,  and  he  buried  his  head  in  the  sofa  cushions, 
as  if  plunging  into  a  whirlpool  of  passionate  recollections. 

'Last  year  he  made  a  considerable  sensation  by  having  on 
his  table  a  morocco  miniature-case  locked  by  a  gold  key,  which 
he  always  wore  round  his  neck,  on  which  was  stamped  a  ser- 
pent— emblem  of  eternity — with  the  letter  M.  in  the  circle. 
Sometimes  he  laid  this  upon  his  little  morocco  writing-table,  as 
if  it  were  on  an  altar — generally  he  had  flowers  upon  it ;  in  the 
middle  of  a  conversation  he  would  start  up  and  kiss  it.  He 
would  call  out  from  his  bedroom  to  his  valet,  "  Hicks,  bring 
me  my  casket !  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  it  is,"  Waggle  would  say.  "Who  does 
know  that  fellow's  intrigues  !  Desborough  Wiggle,  sir,  is  the 
slave  of  passion.  I  suppose  you  have  heard  the  story  of  the 
Italian  princess  locked  up  in  the  Convent  of  Saint  Barbara,  at 
Rimini?  He  hasn't  told  you?  Then  I'm  not  at  liberty  to 
speak.  Or  the  countess,  about  whom  he  nearly  had  the  duel 
with  Prince  Witikind  of  Bavaria  ?  Perhaps  you  haven't  even 
heard  about  the  beautiful  girl  at  Pentonville,  daughter  of  a  most 
respectable  Dissenting  clerg\'man.  She  broke  her  heart  when 
she  found  he  was  engaged  (to  a  most  lovely  creature  of  high 
familv,  who  afterwards  proved  false  to  him),  and  she's  now  in 
HanCvell." 

Waggle's  belief  in  his  friend  amounts  to  frantic  adoration. 
"  What  a  genius  he  is,  if  he  would  but  apply  himself !  "  he  whis^ 
pers  to  me.     "  He  could  be  anything,  sir,  but  for  his  passions. 


CLUB  S.VOBS.  383* 

His  poems  are  the  most  beautiful  things  you  ever  saw.  He's 
written  a  continuation  of  '  Don  Juan,'  from  his  own  adventures. 
Did  you  ever  read  his  lines  to  Mary  ?  They're  superior  to  By- 
ron, sir — superior  to  Byron."    • 

I  was  glad  to  hear  this  from  so  accomplished  a  critic  as 
Waggle  ;  for  the  fact  is,  I  had  composed  the  verses  myself  for 
honest  Wiggle  one  day,  whom  I  found  at  his  chambers  plunged 
in  thought  over  a  very  dirty  old-fashioned  album,  in  which  he 
had  not  as  yet  written  a  single  word. 

"  I  can't,"  says  he.  "  Sometimes  I  can  write  whole  cantos, 
and  to-day  not  a  line.  Oh,  Snob  !  such  an  opportunity  !  Such 
a  divine  creature  !  She's  asked  me  to  write  verses  for  her 
album,  and  I  can't." 

"  Is  she  rich  ?  "  said  I.  "  I  thought  you  would  never  marry 
any  but  an  heiress." 

"  Oh,  Snob  !  she's  the  most  accomplished,  highly-connected 
creature  ! — and  I  can't  get  out  a  line." 

"  How  will  you  have  it  ?  "  says  I.     "  Hot,  with  sugar  ?  " 

"  Don't,  don't !  You  trample  on  the  most  sacred  feelings. 
Snob.  I  want  something  wild  and  tender, — like  Byron.  I 
want  to  tell  her  that  amongst  the  festive  halls,  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  know — I  only  think  about  her,  you  know — that  I 
scorn  the  world,  and  am  weary  of  it,  you  know,  and — some- 
thing ab^ut  a  gazelle,  and  a  bulbul,  you  know." 

"And  a  yataghan  to  finish  off  with,"  the  present  writer 
observed,  and  we  began  : — 

"TO    MARY. 

•'  I  seem,  :n  the  midst  of  the  crowd. 

The  lightest  of  all  ; 
My  laughter  rings  cheery  and  loud, 

In  banquet  and  ball. 
My  lips  hath  its  smiles  and  its  sneers, 

For  all  men  to  see  ; 
But  my  soul,  and  my  truth,  and  my  tears. 

Are  for  thee,  are  for  thee !  " 

*'  Do  you  call  :(/iaf  neat,  Wiggle  ?  "  says  I.  "  I  declare  it 
almost  makes  me  cry  myself." 

"  Now  suppose,"  says  Wiggle,  "  we  say  that  all  the  world  is 
at  my  feet — make  her  jealous  you  know,  and  that  sort  of  thing 
— and  that — that  I'm  going  to  travel,  you  know  ?  That  pei' 
haps  may  work  upon  her  feelings." 

So  We  (as  this  wretched  prig  said)  began  again  : — 

"  Around  me  they  flatter  and  fawn'^ 

The  young  and  the  old, 
The  fairest  are  ready  to  pawn 
Their  hearts  for  my  gold. 


■384  'T^E  BOOK  OF  SNOBS, 

They  sue  me — I  laugh  as  I  spurn 

The  slaves  at  my  knee, 
But  in  faith  and  in  fondness  I  turn 

Unto  thee,  unto  thee!  " 

"  Now  for  the  travelling,  Wiggle  my  boy  ! "  And  I  began, 
in  a  voice  choked  with  emotion — 

"Away '  for  my  heart  knows  no  rest 

Since  you  taught  it  to  feel ; 
The  secret  must  die  in  my  breast 

I  burn  to  reveal  ; 
The  passion  I  may  not  *  *  *  " 

"  I  saj'',  Snob  !  "  Wiggle  here  interrupted  the  excited  bard 
(just  as  I  was  about  to  break  out  into  four  lines  so  pathetic 
that  they  would  drive  you  into  hysterics).  "  I  say — ahem — ■ 
couldn't  you  say  that  I  was — a — military  man,  and  that  there 
was  some  danger  of  my  life  ?  " 

"  You  a  military  man  ? — danger  of  your  life  ?  What  the 
deuce  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Wiggle,  blushing  a  good  deal,  "  I  told  her  I 
was  going  out — on — the — Ecuador — expedition." 

"  You  abominable  3'Oung  impostor,"  I  exclaimed.  "  Finish 
the  poem  for  yourself !  "  And  so  he  did,  and  entirely  out  of 
all  metre,  and  bragged  about  the  work  at  the  Club  as  his  own 
performance. 

Poor  Waggle  fully  belie\'ed  in  his  friend's  genius,  until  one 
day  last  week  he  came  with  a  grin  on  his  countenance  to  the 
Club,  and  said,  "  Oh,  Snob,  I've  made  such  a  discovery ! 
Going  down  to  the  skating  to-day,  whom  should  I  see  but 
Wiggle  walking  with  that  splendid  woman — that  lady  of  illus- 
trious family  and  immense  fortune,  Mary,  you  know,  whom  he 
wrote  the  beautiful  verses  about.  She's  five-and-forty.  She's 
red  hair.  She's  a  nose  like  a  pump-handle.  Her  father  made 
his  fortune  by  keeping  a  ham-and-beef  shop,  and  Wiggle's  going 
to  marry  her  next  week." 

"  So  much  the  better,  Waggle,  my  young  friend,"  I  ex- 
claimed. "  Better  for  the  sake  of  womankind  that  this  dan- 
gerous dog  should  leave  off  lady-killing — this  Blue-Beard  give 
up  practice.  Or,  better  rather  for  his  own  sake.  For  as  there 
is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  any  of  those  prodigious  love-stories 
which  you  used  to  swallow,  nobody  has  been  hurt  except 
Wiggle  himself,  whose  affections  will  now  centre  in  the  ham- 
and-beef  shop.  There  are  people,  Mr.  Waggle,  who  do  these 
things  in  earnest,  and  hold  a  good  rank  in  the  world  too.  But 
these  are  not  subjects  for  ridicule,  and  though  certainly  Snobs, 
are  scoundrels  likewise.    Their  cases  go  up  to  a  higher  Court." 


CLUB  SNOBS.  385 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

CLUB   SNOBS. 

Bacchus  is  the  divinity  to  whom  Waggle  devotes  his 
especial  worship.  "  Give  me  wine,  my  boy,"  says  he  to  his 
friend  Wiggle,  who  is  prating  about  lovely  woman  ;  and  holds 
up  his  glass  full  of  the  rosy  fluid,  and  winks  at  it  portentously, 
and  sips  it  and  smacks  his  lips  after  it,  and  meditates  on  it,  as 
if  he  were  the  greatest  of  connoisseurs. 

I  have  remarked  this  excessive  wine-amateurship  especially 
in  youth.  Snoblings  from  college,  Fledglings  from  the  army, 
Goslings  from  the  public  schools,  who  ornament  our  Clubs,  are 
frequently  to  be  heard  in  great  force  upon  wine  questions. 
"  This  bottle's  corked,"  says  Snobling ;  and  Mr.  Sly,  the  butler, 
taking  it  away,  returns  presently  wifh  the  same  wine  in  another 
jug,  which  the  young  amateur  pronounces  excellent.  "  Hang 
champagne  !  "  says  Fledgling,  "  it's  only  fit  for  gals  and  children. 
Give  me  pale  sherry  at  dinner,  and  my  twenty-three  claret  after- 
wards." "  What's  port  now  .'  "  says  Gosling  ;  "  disgusting 
thick  sweet  stuff — where's  the  old  dry  wine  one  7ised  to  get .''  " 
Until  the  last  twelvemonth.  Fledgling  drank  small-beer  at  Doc- 
tor Swishtail's  ;  and  Gosling  used  to  get  his  dry  old  port  at  a 
gin-shop  in  Westminster — till  he  quitted  that  seminary,  in 
1844. 

Anybody  who  has  looked  at  the  caricatures  of  thirty  years 
ago,  must  remember  how  frequently  bottle-noses,  pimpled  faces, 
and  other  Bardolphian  features  are  introduced  by  the  designer. 
They  are  much  more  rare  now  (in  nature,  and  in  pictures,  there- 
fore,) than  in  those  good  old  times  ;  but  there  are  still  to  be 
found  amongst  the  youth  of  our  Clubs  lads  who  glory  in  drink- 
ing-bouts, and  whose  faces,  quite  sickly  and  yellow,  for  the 
most  part  are  decorated  with  those  marks  which  Rowland's 
Kalydor  is  said  to  efface.  "  I  was  so  cut  last  night — old  boy  !  " 
Hopkins  says  to  Tomkins  (with  amiable  confidence).  "  I  tell 
you  what  we  did.  We  breakfasted  with  Jack  Herring  at  twelve, 
and  kept  up  with  brandy  and  soda-water  and  weeds  till  four ; 
then  we  toddled  into  the  Park  for  an  hour ;  then  we  dined  and 
drank  mulled  port  till  half-price  ;  then  we  looked  in  for  an 
hour  at  the  Haymarket ;  then  we  came  back  to  the  Club,  and 


386  I^HE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

had  grills  and  whiskey-punch  till  all  was  blue. — Hullo,  waiter ! 
Get  me  a  glass  of  cherry-brandy."  Club  waiters,  the  civilest, 
the  kindlest,  the  patientest  of  men,  die  under  the  infliction  of 
these  cruel  young  topers.  But  if  the  reader  wishes  to  see  a 
perfect  picture  on  the  stage  of  this  class  of  young  fellows,  I 
would  recommend  him  to  witness  the  ingenious  comedy  of 
London  Assurance — the  amiable  heroes  of  which  are  repre- 
sented, not  only  as  drunkards  and  five-o'clock-in-the-morning 
men,  but  as  showing  a  hundred  other  delightful  trai*^s  of 
swindling,  lying,  and  general  debauchery,  quite  edifying  to 
witness. 

How  different  is  the  conduct  of  these  outrageous  youths  to 
the  decent  behavior  of  my  friend,  Mr.  Papworthy ;  who  says 
to  Poppins,  the  butler  at  the  club  : — 

Papzuorthy. — "  Poppins,  I'm  thinking  of  dining  early  ;  is 
there  any  cold  game  in  the  house  ?  " 

Poppins. — " There's  "a  game-pie,  sir;  there's  cold  grouse, 
sir  ;  there's  cold  pheasant,  sir  ;  there's  cold  peacock,  sir  ;  cold 
swan,  sir ;  cold  ostrich,  sir,"  &c.,  &c.  (as  the  case  may  be). 

Papworthy. — "  Hem  !  What's  your  best  claret  now,  Pop- 
pins ? — in  pints  I  mean." 

Poppins.  — "  There's  Cooper  and  Magnum's  Lafite,  sir ; 
there's  Lath  and  Sawdust's  St.  JuUien,  sir :  Bung's  Leoville  is 
considered  remarkably  fine  ;  and  I  think  you'd  like  Jugger's 
Chateau-Margaux." 

Papworthy. — "Hum! — hah! — well — give  me  a  crust  of 
bread  and  a  glass  of  beer.     Til  only  lunch,  Poppins." 

Captain  Shindy  is  another  sort  of  Club  bore.  He  has  been 
known  to  throw  all  the  Club  in  an  uproar  about  the  quality  of 
his  mutton-chop. 

"  Look  at  it,  sir  !  Is  it  cooked,  sir  ?  Smell  it,  sir  !  Is  it 
meat  fit  for  a  gentleman  ?  "  he  roars  out  to  the  steward,  who 
stands  trembling  before  him,  and  who  in  vain  tells  him  that  the 
Bishop  of  Bullocksmithy  has  just  had  three  from  the  same  loin. 
All  the  waiters  in  the  Club  are  huddled  round  the  captain's 
mutton-chop.  He  roars  out  the  most  horrible  curses  at  John 
for  not  bringing  the  pickles ;  he  utters  the  most  dreadful  oaths 
because  Thomas  has  not  arrived  with  the  Harvey  sauce  ;  Peter 
comes  tumbling  with  the  water-jug  over  Jeames,  who  is  bringing 
"  the  glittering  canisters  with  bread."  Whenever  Shindy  enters 
the  room  (such  is  the  force  of  character),  every  table  is  de- 
serted, every  gentleman  must  dine  as  he  best  may,  and  all  those 
big  footmen  are  in  terror. 

He  makes  his  account  of  it.       He  scolds,  and  is  better 


CLUB  SNOBS. 


3^1 


waited  upon  in  consequence.     At  the  Club  he  has  ten  servants 
scudding  about  to  do  his  bidding. 

Poor  Mrs.  Shindy  and  the  children  are,  meanwhile,  in  dingy 
lodgings  somewhere,  waited  upon  by  a  chairity-girl  in  pattens. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

CLUB    SNOBS. 


Every  well-bred  English  female  will  sympathize  with  the 
subject  of  the  harrowing  tale,  the  history  of  Sackville  Maine,  I 
am  now  about  to  recount.  The  pleasures  of  Clubs  have  been 
spoken  of  :  let  us  now  glance  for  a  moment  at  the  dangers  of 
those  institutions,  and  for  this  purpose  I  must  introduce  you  to 
my  young  acquaintance,  Sackville  Maine. 

It  was  at  a  ball  at  the  house  of  my  respected  friend,  Mrs. 
Perkins,  that  I  was  introduced  to  this  gentleman  and  his  charm- 
ing lady.  Seeing  a  young  creature  before  me  in  a  white  dress, 
with  white  satin  shoes ;  with  a  pink  ribbon,  about  a  yard  in 
breadth,  flaming  out  as  she  twirled  in  a  polka  in  the  arms  of 
Monsieur  de  Springbock,  the  German  diplomatist ;  with  a  green 
wreath  on  her  head,  and  the  blackest  hair  this  individual  ever 
set  eyes  on — seeing,  I  say,  before  me  a  charming  young  woman 
whisking  beautifully  in  a  beautiful  dance,  and  presenting,  as 
she  wound  and  wound  round  the  room,  now  a  full  face,  then  a 
three-quarter  face,  then  a  profile — a  face,  in  fine,  which  in  every 
way  you  saw  it,  looked  pretty,  and  rosy,  and  happy,  I  felt  (as  I 
trust)  a  not  unbecoming  curiosity  regarding  the  owner  of  this 
pleasant  countenance,  and  asked  Wagley  (who  was  standing  b}, 
in  conversation  with  an  acquaintance)  who  was  the  lady  in 
question  ? 

"  Which  ?  "  says  Wagley. 

"That  one  with  the  coal-black  eyes,"  I  replied. 

"  Hush  !  "  says  he  ;  and  the  gentleman  with  whom  he  was 
talking  moved  off,  with  lather  a  discomfited  air. 

When  he  wr.s  gone  Wagley  burst  out  laughing.  "  Coal-hlack 
eyes  !  "  said  he ;  "  you've  just  hit  it.  That's  Mrs.  Sackville 
Maine,  and  that  was  her  husband  who  just  went  away.  He's  a 
coal  merchant,  Snob  my  boy,  and  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Perkins's 
Wallsends  are  supplied  from  his  wharf.     He  is  in  a  flaming 


388  J^f^E  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

furnace  when  he  hears  coals  mentioned.  He  and  his  wife  and 
his  mother  are  very  proud  of  Mrs.  Sackville's  family  ;  she  was 
a  Miss  Chuff,  daughter  of  Captain  Chuff,  R.  N.  _  That  is  the 
widow  ;  that  stout  woman  in  crimson  tabinet,  battling  about  the 
odd  trick  with  old  Mr.  Dumps,  at  the  card-table." 

And  so,  in  fact,  it  was.  Sackville  Maine  (whose  name  is  a 
hundred  times  more  elegant,  surely,  than  that  of  Chuff  )  was 
blest  with  a  pretty  wife,  and  a  genteel  mother-in-law,  both  of 
whom  some  people  may  envy  him. 

Soon  after  his  marriage  the  old  lady  was  good  enough  to 
come  and  pay  him  a  visit — just  for  a  fortnight — at  his  pretty 
little  cottage,  Kennington  Oval ;  and,  such  is  her  affection  for 
the  place,  has  never  quitted  it  these  four  years.  She  has  also 
brought  her  son.  Nelson  Collingwood  Chuff,  to  live  with  her; 
but  he  is  not  so  much  at  home  as  his  mamma,  going  as  a  day- 
boy to  Merchant  Taylors'  School,  where  he  is  getting  a  sound 
classical  education. 

If  these  beings,  so  closely  allied  to  his  wife,  and  so  justly 
dear  to  her,  may  be  considered  as  drawbacks  to  Maine's  hap- 
piness, what  man  is  there  that  has  not  some  things  in  life  to 
complain  of  ?  And  when  I  first  knew  Mr.  Maine,  no  man 
seemed  more  comfortable  than  he.  His  cottage  was  a  picture 
of  elegance  and  comfort ;  his  table  and  cellar  were  excellently 
and  neatly  supplied.  There  was  every  enjoyment,  but  no  osten- 
tation. The  omnibus  took  him  to  business  of  a  morning ;  the 
boat  brought  him  back  to  the  happiest  of  homes,  where  he 
would  while  away  the  long  evenings  by  reading  out  the  fashion- 
able novels  to  the  ladies  as  they  worked ;  or  accompany  his 
wife  on  the  flute  (which  he  played  elegantly)  ;  or  in  any  one  of 
the  hundred  pleasing  and  innocent  amusements  of  the  domestic 
circle.  Mrs.  Chuff  covered  the  drawing-rooms  with  prodigious 
tapestries,  the  work  of  her  hands.  Mrs.  Sackville  had  a  par- 
ticular genius  of  making  covers  of  tape  or  net-work  for  these 
tapestried  cushions.  She  could  make  home-made  wines.  She 
could  make  preserves  and  pickles.  She  had  an  album,  into 
which,  during  the  time  of  his  courtship,  Sackville  Maine  had 
written  choice  scraps  of  Byron's  and  Moore's  poetry,  analogous 
to  his  own  situation,  and  in  a  fine  mercantile  hand.  She  had  a 
large  manuscript  receipt-book — every  quality,  in  a  word,  which 
indicated  a  virtuous  and  well-bred  English  female  mind. 

"  And  as  for  Nelson  Collingwood,"  Sackville  would  say, 
laughing,  "  we  couldn't  do  without  him  in  the  house.  If  ha 
didn't  spoil  the  tapestry  we  should  be  over-cushioned  in  a  fev 
months ;  and  wh^m  could  we  get  but  him  tQ  drink  Laura's 


CLUB  SNOBS.  38g 

home-made  wine  ?  "  The  truth  is,  the  gents  who  came  from 
the  City  to  dine  at  the  "  Oval  "  could  not  be  induced  to  drink 
it — in  which  fastidiousness,  I  myself,  when  I  grew  to  be  inti- 
mate with  the  family,  confess  that  I  shared. 

"  And  yet,  sir,  that  green  ginger  has  been  drunk  by  some 
of  England's  proudest  heroes,"  Mrs.  Chuff  would  exclaim. 
"  Admiral  Lord  Exmouth  tasted  and  praised  it,  sir,  on  board 
Captain  Chuff's  ship,  the  '  Nebuchadnezzar,'  74,  at  Algiers  ; 
and  he  had  three  dozen  with  him  in  the  '  Pitchfork '  frigate,  a 
part  ol  which  was  served  out  to  the  men  before  he  went  into 
his  immortal  action  with  the  'Furibonde,'  Captain  Choufleur, 
in  the  Gulf  of  Panama." 

All  this,  though  the  old  dowager  told  us  the  story  every 
day  when  the  wine  was  produced,  never  served  to  get  rid  of 
any  quantity  of  it — and  the  green  ginger,  though  it  had  fired 
British  tars  for  combat  and  victory,  was  not  to  the  taste  of  us 
peaceful  and  degenerate  gents  of  modern  times. 

I  see  Sackville  now,  as  on  the  occasion  when,  presented  by 
Wagley,  I  paid  my  first  visit  to  him.  Itw^as  in  July — a  Sunday 
afternoon — Sackville  Maine  was  coming  from  church,  with  his 
wife  on  one  arm,  and  his  mother-in-law  (in  red  tabinet,  as  usual,) 
on  the  other.  A  half-grown,  or  hobbadehoyish  footman,  so  to 
speak,  walked  after  them,  carrying  their  shining  golden  prayer- 
books — the  ladies  had  splendid  parasols  with  tags  and  fringes. 
Mrs.  Chuff's  great  gold  watch,  fastened  to  her  stomach,  gleamed 
there  like  a  ball  of  fire.  Nelson  CoUingwood  was  in  the  dis- 
tance, shying  stones  at  an  old  horse  on  Kennington  Common. 
'Twas  on  that  verdant  spot  we  met — nor  can  I  ever  forget  the 
majestic  courtesy  of  Mrs.  Chuff,  as  she  remembered  having  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  me  at  Mrs.  Perkins's — nor  the  glance  of 
scorn  which  she  threw  at  an  unfortunate  gentleman  who  was 
preaching  an  exceedingly  desultory  discourse  to  a  skeptical 
audience  of  omnibus-cads  and  nurse-maids,  on  a  tub,  as  we 
passed  by.  "  I  cannot  help  it,  sir,"  says  she ;  "  I  am  the 
widow  of  an  officer  of  Britain's  Navy  :  I  was  taught  to  honor  my 
Church  and  my  King :  and  I  cannot  bear  a  Radical,  or  a  Dis- 
senter." 

With  these  fine  principles  I  found  Sackville  Maine  impressed. 
"Wagley,"  said  he,  to  my  introducer,  "if  no  better  engage- 
ment, why  shouldn't  self  and  friend  dine  at  the  '  Oval  t '  Mr. 
Snob,  sir,  the  mutton's  com.ing  off  the  spit  at  this  very  minute. 
Laura  and  Mrs.  Chuff  "  (he  said  Laurar  and  Mrs.  Chuff ;  but 
I  hate  people  who  make  remarks  on  these  peculiarities  of  pro- 
nunciation,) "  will  be  most  happy  to  see  you  ;  and  I  can  prom- 


390 


THE  BOO^K  OF  SNOBS. 


ise  you  a  hearty  welcome,  and  as  good  a  glass  of  port-wine  as 
any  in  England." 

"This is  better  than  dining  at  the  '  Sarcophagus,'  "  thmks  I 
to  myself,  at  which  Club  Wagley  and  I  had  intended  to  take 
our  meal ;  and  so  we  accepted  the  kindly  invitation,  whence 
arose  afterwards  a  considerable  intimacy. 

Everything  about  this  family  and  house  was  so  good-natured, 
comfortable,  and  well-conditioned,  that  a  cynic  would  have 
ceased  to  growl  there.  Mrs.  Laura  was  all  graciousness  and 
smiles,  and  looked  to  as  great  advantage  in  her  pretty  morning- 
gown  as  in  her  dress-robe  at  Mrs.  Perkins's.  Mrs.  Chuff  fired 
off  her  stories  about  the  "  Nebuchadnezzar,"  74,  the  action 
between  the  "  Pitchfork  "  and  the  "  Furibonde  " — the  heroic 
resistance  of  Captain  Choufleur,  and  the  quantity  of  snuff  he 
took,  &c.,  &c.  ;  which,  as  they  were  heard  for  the  first  time, 
were  pleasanter  than  I  have  subsequently  found  them.  Sack- 
ville  Maine  was  the  best  of  hosts.  He  agreed  in  everything 
everybody  said,  altering  his  opinions  without  the  slightest  res- 
ervation upon  the  slightest  possible  contradiction.  He  was 
not  of  those  beings  who  would  emulate  a  Schonbein  or  Friar 
Bacon,  or  act  the  part  of  an  incendiary  towards  the  Thames, 
his  neighbor — but  a  good,  kind,  simple,  honest  easy,  fellow — 
in  love  with  his  wife — well  disposed  to  all  the  world — content 
with  himself,  content  even  with  his  mother-in-law.  Nelson 
Collingwood,  I  remember,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  when 
whiskey-and-water  was  for  some  reason  produced,  grew  a  little 
tipsy.  This  did  not  in  the  least  move  Sackviile's  equanimity. 
"  Take  him  up  stairs,  Joseph,"  said  he  to  the  hobbadehoy,  "  and 
■ — Joseph — don't  tell  his  mamma." 

What  could  make  a  man  so  happily  disposed,  unhappy  ? 
What  could  cause  discomfort,  bickering,  and  estrangement  in  a 
family  so  friendly  and  united  ?  Ladies,  it  was  not  my  fault — it 
was  Mrs.  Chuff's  doing — but  the  rest  of  the  tale  you  shall  have 
on  a  future  day. 


CHAPTER  XLHL 

CLUB    SNOBS. 


The  misfortune  which  befell  the  simple  and  good-natured 
young  Sackville,  arose  entirely  from  that  abominable  "  Sar- 
cophagus Club  ; "  and  that  he  ever  entered  it  was  partly  the 
fault  of  the  present  writer. 


CLUB  SNOBS. 


391 


For  seeing  Mrs.  Chuff,  his  mother-in-law,  had  a  taste  for 
the  genteel — (indeed,  her  talk  was  all  about  Lord  Collingwood, 
Lord  Gambler,  Sir  Jahaleel  Brenton,  and  the  Gosport  and 
Plymouth  balls) — Wagley  and  I,  according  to  our  wont,  trumped 
her  conversation,  and  talked  about  Lords,  Dukes,  Marquises, 
and  Baronets,  as  if  those  dignitaries  were  our  familiar  friends. 

"  Lord  Sextonbury,"  says  I,  "  seems  to  have  recovered  her 
ladyship's  death.  He  and  the  Duke  were  very  jolly  over  their 
wine  at  the  '  Sarcophagus  '  last  night ;  weren't  they,  Wagley  ?  " 

"  Good  fellow,  the  Duke,"  Wagley  replied.  "  Praj^,  ma'am  " 
(to  Mrs.  Chuff),  "  you  who  know  the  world  and  etiquette,  will 
you  tell  me  what  a  man  ought  to  do  in  my  case  ?  Last  June, 
his  Grace,  his  son  Lord  Castlerampant,  Tom  Smidi,  and  myself 
were  dining  at  the  Club,  when  I  offered  the  odds  against 
Daddylonglegs  for  the  Derby — forty  to  one,  in  sovereigns  only. 
His  Grace  took  the  bet,  and  of  course  I  won.  He  has  never 
paid  me.  Now,  can  I  ask  such  a  great  man  for  a  sovereign? — ■ 
One  more  lump  of  sugar,  if  you  please,  my  dear  madam." 

It  was  lucky  Wagley  gave  her  this  opportunity  to  elude  the 
question,  for  it  prostrated  the  whole  worthy  family  among  whom 
we  were.  They  telegraphed  each  other  with  wondering  eyes. 
Mrs.  Chuff's  stories  about  the  naval  nobility  grew  quite  faint : 
and  kind  little  Mrs.  Sackville  became  uneasy,  and  went  up  stairs 
to  look  at  the  children — not  at  that  young  monster,  Nelson 
Collingwood,  who  was  sleeping  off  the  whiskey-and-water — but 
at  a  CO  iple  of  little  ones  who  had  made  their  appearance  at 
dessert,  and  of  whom  she  and  Sackville  were  the  happy  parents. 

The  end  of  this  and  subsequent  meetings  with  Mr.  Maine 
ivas,  that  we  proposed  and  got  him  elected  as  a  member  of  the 
"'  Sarcophagus  Club." 

It  was  not  done  without  a  deal  of  opposition — the  secret 
having  been  whispered  that  the  candidate  was  a  coal  merchant. 
You  may  be  sure  some  of  the  proud  people  and  most  of  the 
parvenus  of  the  Club  were  ready  to  blackball  him.  We  com- 
bated this  opposition  successfully,  however.  We  pointed  out 
to  the  parvenus  that  the  Lambtons  and  the  Stuarts  sold  coals  : 
we  mollified  the  proud  by  accounts  of  his  good  birth,  good 
nature,  and  good  behavior ;  and  Wagley  went  about  on  the  day 
of  election,  describing  with  great  eloquence,  the  action  between 
the  "Pitchfork"  and  the  "  Furibonde,"  and  the  valor  of  Cap- 
tain Maine,  our  friend's  father.  There  was  a  slight  mistake  in. 
the  narrative  ;  but  we  carried  our  man,  with  only  a  trifling 
sprinkling  of  black  beans  in  the  boxes  :  Byles's,  of  course,  who 
blackballs  everj^body ;  and  Bung's,  who  looks  down  upon  a 
coal  merchant,  having  latelv  retired  from  the  wine  trade. 


392 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


Some  fortnight  afterwards  I  saw  Sackville  Maine  under  the 
following  circumstances  : — 

He  was  showing  the  Club  to  his  family.  He  had  brought 
them  thither  in  the  light-blue  fly,  waiting  at  the  Club  door ; 
with  Mrs.  Chuff's  hobbadehoy  footboy  on  the  box,  by  the  side 
of  the  flyman,  in  a  sham  livery.  Nelson  Collingwood  ;  pretty 
Mrs.  Sackville  ;  Mrs.  Captain  Chuff  (Mrs.  Commodore  Chuff 
we  call  her),  were  all  there  ;  the  latter,  of  course,  in  the  vermil 
ion  tabinet,  which,  splendid  as  it  is,  is  nothing  in  comparison  to 
the  splendor  of  the  "  Sarcophagus."  The  delighted  Sackville 
Maine  was  pointing  out  the  beauties  of  the  place  to  them.  It 
seemed  as  beautiful  as  Paradise  to  that  little  party. 

The  "  Sarcophagus  "  displays  every  known  variety  of  archi- 
tecture and  decoration.  The  great  library  is  Elizabethan;  the 
small  library  is  pointed  Gothic  ;  the  dining-room  is  severe 
Doric  ;  the  strangers'  room  has  an  Egyptian  look  ;  the  drawing- 
rooms  are  Louis  Quatorze  (so  called  because  the  hideous  or- 
naments displayed  were  used  in  the  time  of  Louis  Quinze)  j 
the  cortile,  or  hall,  is  Morisco-Italian.  It  is  all  over  marble, 
maplewood,  looking-glasses,  arabesques,  ormolu,  and  scagliola. 
Scrolls,  ciphers,  dragons,  Cupids,  polyanthuses,  and  other 
flowers  writhe  up  the  walls  in  every  kind  of  cornucopiosity. 
Fancy  every  gentleman  in  Jullien's  band  playing  with  all  his 
might,  and  each  performing  a  different  tune  ;  the  ornaments 
at  our  Club,  the  "  Sarcophagus,"  so  bewilder  and  affect  me. 
Dazzled  with  emotions  which  I  cannot  describe,  and  which  she 
dared  not  reveal,  Mrs.  Chuff,  followed  by  her  children  and 
son-in-law,  walked  wondering  amongst  these  blundering  splen- 
dors. 

In  the  great  library  (225  feet  long  by  150)  the  only  man 
Mrs.  Chuff  saw,  was  Tiggs.  He  was  lying  on  a  crimson-velvet 
sofa,  reading  a  French  novel  of  Paul  de  Kock.  It  was  a  very 
little  book.  He  is  a  very  little  man.  In  that  enormous  hall 
he  looked  like  a  mere  speck.  As  the  ladies  passed  breathless 
and  trembling  in  the  vastness  of  the  magnificent  solitude,  he 
threw  a  knowing,  killing  glance  at  the  fair  strangers,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Ain't  I  a  fine  fellow  .?  "  They  thought  so,  I  am 
sure. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  hisses  out  Mrs.  Chuff,  when  we  were 
about  fifty  yards  off  him  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"Tiggs!  "  says  I,  in  a  similar  whisper. 

"  Pretty  comfortable  this,  isn't  it,  my  dear  ? "  says  Maine 
in  a  free-and-easy  way  to  Mrs.  Sackville  ;  "  all  the  magazines, 
you  see — writing  materials — new  works — choice  library,  con- 


CLUB  SNOBS.  393 

taining  every  work  of  importance — what  have  we  here  ? — ■ 
'  Dugdale's  Monasticon,'  a  most  valuable  and,  I  believe,  enter- 
taining book." 

And  proposing  to  take  down  one  of  the  books  for  Mrs. 
Maine's  inspection,  he  selected  Volume  VII.,  to  which  he  was 
attracted  by  the  singular  fact  that  a  brass  door-handle  grew 
out  of  the  back.  Instead  of  pulling  out  a  book,  however,  he 
pulled  open  a  cupboard,  only  inhabited  by  a  lazy  housemaid's 
broom  and  duster,  at  which  he  looked  exceedingly  discom- 
fited ;  while  Nelson  Collingwood,  losing  all  respect,  burst  into 
a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  That's  the  rummest  book  I  ever  saw,"  says  Nelson.  "  I 
wish  we'd  no  others  at  Merchant  Taylors'." 

"  Hush,  Nelson  ! "  cries  Mrs.  Chuff,  and  we  went  into  the 
other  magnificent  apartments. 

How  they  did  admire  the  drawing-room  hangings,  (pink 
and  silver  brocade,  most  excellent  wear  for  London,)  and  cal- 
culated the  pcice  per  yard  ;  and  revelled  on  the  luxurious  sofas  ; 
and  gazed  on  the  immeasurable  looking-glasses. 

"  Pretty  well  to  shave  by,  eh  ? "  says  Maine  to  his  mother- 
in-law.  (He  was  getting  more  abominably  conceited  every 
minute.)  "  Get  away,  Sackville,"  says  she,  quite  delighted, 
and  threw  a  glance  over  her  shoulder,  and  spread  out  the  wings 
of  the  red  tabinet,  and  took  a  good  look  at  herself ;  so  did 
Mrs.  Sackville — just  one,  and  I  thought  the  glass  reflected  a 
very  smiling,  pretty  creature. 

But  what's  a  woman  at  a  looking-glass  ?  Bless  the  little 
dears,  it's  their  place.  They  fly  to  it  naturally.  It  pleases 
them,  and  they  adorn  it.  What  I  like  to  see,  and  watch  with 
increasing  joy  and  adoration,  is  the  Club  men  at  the  great 
looking-glasses.  Old  Gills  pushing  up  his  collars  and  grin- 
ning at  his  own  mottled  face.  Hulker  looking  solemnly  at  his 
great  person,  and  tightening  his  coat  to  give  himself  a  waist. 
Fred  Minchin  simpering  by  as  he  is  going  out  to  dine,  and 
casting  upon  the  reflection  of  his  white  neckcloth  a  pleased 
moony  smile.  What  a  deal  of  vanity  that  Club  mirror  has  re- 
flected, to  be  sure  ! 

Well,  the  ladies  went  through  the  whole  establishment  with 
perfect  pleasure.  They  beheld  the  coffee-rooms,  and  the  little 
tables  laid  for  dinner,  and  the  gentlemen  who  were  taking 
their  lunch,  and  old  Jawkins  thundering  away  as  usual  ;  they 
saw  the  reading-rooms,  and  the  rush  for  the  evening  papers  ; 
they  saw  the  kitchens — those  wonders  of  art — where  the  Chef 
was  presiding  over  twenty  pretty  kitchen-maids,  and  ten  thou- 


394 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 


sand  shining  saucepans  -  and  they  got  into  the  light-blue  fly 
perfectly  bewildered  with  pleasure, 

Sackville  did  not  enter  it,  though  little  Laura  took  the  back 
seat  on  purpose,  and  left  him  the  front  place  alongside  of  Mrs. 
ChufiE's  red  tabinet. 

"  We  have  your  favorite  dinner,"  says  she,  in  a  timid  voice ; 
"won't  you  come,  Sackville  ?  " 

"  I  shall  take  a  chop  here  to-day,  my  dear,"  Sackville  re- 
plied, "  Home,  James,"  And  he  went  up  the  steps  of  the 
"  Sarcophagus,"  and  the  pretty  face  looked  very  sad  out  of  the 
carriage,  as  the  blue  fly  drove  away. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

CLUB   SNOBS. 


Why — why  did  I  and  Wagley  ever  do  so  cmcl  an  action  as 
to  introduce  young  Sackville  Maine  into  that  odious  "'  Sarcoph- 
agus !  "  Let  our  imprudence  and  his  example  be  a  warning 
to  other  gents  ;  let  his  fate  and  that  of  his  poor  wife  be  re- 
membered by  every  British  female.  The  consequences  of  his 
entering  the  Club  were  as  follow  : — 

One  of  the  first  vices  the  unhappy  wretch  acquired  in  this 
abode  of  frivolity  was  that  of  smoking.  Some  of  the  dandies 
of  the  Club,  such  as  the  Marquis  of  Macabaw,  Lord  Doodeen, 
and  fellows  of  that  high  order,  are  in  the  habit  of  indulging  in 
this  propensity  up  stairs  in  the  billiard-rooms  of  the  "  Sarcoph- 
agus " — and,  partly  to  make  their  acquaintance,  partly  from 
a  natural  aptitude  for  crime,  Sackville  Maine  followed  them, 
and  became  an  adept  in  the  odious  custom.  Where  it  is  in- 
troduced into  a  family  I  need  not  say  how  sad  the  conse- 
quences are,  both  to  the  furniture  and  the  morals.  Sackville 
smoked  in  his  dining-room  at  home,  and  caused  an  agony  to 
his  wife  and  mother-in-law  which  I  do  not  venture  to  describe. 

He  then  became  a  professed  billiard-player.,  wasting  hours 
upon  that  amusement ;  betting  freely,  playing  tolerably,  losing 
awfully  to  Captain  Spot  and  Col.  Cannon.  He  played  matches 
of  a  hundred  games  with  these  gentlemen,  and  would  not  only 
continue  until  four  or  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  at  this  work, 
but  would  be  found  at  the  Club  of  a  forenoon,  indulging  him- 
self  to  the  detriment  of  his  business,  the  ruin  of  his  health,  and 
the  neglect  of  his  wife. 


CLUB  SNOBS. 


395 


From  billiards  to  whist  is  but  a  step — and  when  a  man  gets 
to  whist  and  five  pounds  on  the  rubber,  my  opinion  is,  that  it  is 
all  up  with  him.  How  was  the  coal  business  to  go  on,  and  the 
connection  of  the  firm  to  be  kept  up,  and  the  senior  partner 
always  at  the  card-table  ? 

Consorting  now  with  genteel  persons  and  Pall  Mall  bucks, 
Sackville  became  ashamed  of  his  snug  little  residence  in  Ken- 
nington  Oval,  and  transported  his  family  to  Pimlico,  where, 
though  Mrs.  Chuff,  his  mother-in-law,  was  at  first  happy,  as  the 
quarter  was  elegant  and  near  her  Sovereign,  poor  little  Laura 
and  the  children  found  a  woeful  difference.  Where  were  her 
friends  who  came  in  with  their  work  of  a  morning  ? — At 
Kennington  and  in  the  vicinity  of  Clapham.  Where  were  her 
children's  little  playmates  ? — on  Kennington  Common,  The 
great  thundering  carriages  that  roared  up  and  down  the  drab- 
colored  streets  of  the  new  quarter,  contained  no  friends  for  the 
sociable  little  Laura.  The  children  that  paced  the  squares, 
attended  by  a  bonne  or  a  prim  governess,  were  not  like  those 
happy  ones  that  flew  kites,  or  played  hop-scotch,  on  the  well- 
beloved  old  Common.  And  ah  !  what  a  difference  at  Church 
too  ! — between  St.  Benedict's  of  Pimlico,  with  open  seats,  ser- 
vice in  sing-song — tapers — albs — surplices — garlands  and  pro- 
cessions, and  the  honest  old  ways  of  Kennington  !  The  foot- 
men, too,  attending  St.  Benedict's  were  so  splendid  and  enor- 
mous, that  James,  Mrs.  Chuff's  boy,  trembled  amongst  them, 
and  said  he  would  give  warning  rather  than  carry  the  books 
to  that  church  any  more. 

The  furnishing  of  the  house  was  not  done  without  expense. 

And,  ye  gods !  what  a  difference  there  was  between  Sack- 
ville's  dreary  French  banquets  in  Pimlico,  and  the  jolly  dinners 
at  the  Oval !  No  more  leg-of-mutton,  no  more  of  "  the  best 
port-wine  in  England ;"  but  ^////t'Vi- on  plate,  and  dismal  two- 
penny champagne,  and  waiters  in  gloves,  and  the  club  bucks 
for  company — among  whom  Mrs.  Chuff  was  uneasy  and  Mrs. 
Sackville  quite  silent. 

Not  that  he  dined  at  home  often.  The  wretch  had  become 
a  perfect  epicure,  and  dined  commonly  at  the  Club  with  the 
gormandizing  clique  there  ;  with  old  Dr.  Maw,  Colonel  Cram- 
ley  (who  is  as  lean  as  a  greyhound  and  has  jaws  like  a  jack), 
and  the  rest  of  them.  Here  you  might  see  the  wretch  tippling 
Sillery  champagne  and  gorging  himself  with  French  viands  ; 
and  I  often  look  with  sorrow  from  my  table,  (on  which  cold 
meat,  the  Club  small-beer,  and  a  half  pint  of  Marsala  from  the 
modest  banquet,)  and  sighed  to  think  it  was  my  work. 

22 


396  THE  book:  of  snobs. 

And  there  were  other  beings  present  to  my  repentant 
thoughts.  Where's  his  wife,  thought  I  ?  Where's  poor,  good, 
kind  little  Laura  ?  At  this  very  moment — it's  about  the  nursery 
bed-time,  and  while  yonder  good-for-nothing  is  swilling  his 
wine — the  little  ones  are  at  Laura's  knee  lisping  their  prdyers ; 
and  she  is  teaching  them  to  say — "  Pray  God  bless  Papa." 

When  she  has  put  them  to  bed,  her  day's  occupation  is 
gone  ;  and  she  is  utterly  lonely  all  night,  and  sad,  and  waiting 
for  him. 

Oh,  for  shame !  Oh,  for  shame !  Go  home,  thou  idle 
tippler. 

How  Sackville  lost  his  health :  how  he  lost  his  business ; 
how  he  got  into  scrapes  ;  how  he  got  into  debt ;  how  he  be- 
came  a  railroad  director ;  how  the  Pimlico  house  was  shut  up  ; 
how  he  went  to  Boulogne, — all  this  I  could  tell,  only  I  am  too 
much  ashamed  of  my  part  of  the  transaction.  They  returned 
to  England,  because,  to  the  surprise  of  everybody,  Mrs.  Chui! 
came  down  with  a  great  sum  of  money  (which  nobody  knew 
she  had  saved),  and  paid  his  liabilities.  He  is  in  England; 
but  at  Kennington.  His  name  is  taken  off  the  books  of  the 
"  Sarcophagus  "  long  ago.  When  we  meet,  he  crosses  over  to 
the  other  side  of  the  street ;  and  I  don't  call,  as  I  should  be  sorry 
to  see  a  look  of  reproach  or  sadness  upon  Laura's  sweet  face. 

Not,  however,  all  evil,  as  I  am  proud  to  think,  has  been  the 
influence  of  the  Snob  of  England  upon  Clubs  in  general : — 
Captain  Shindy  is  afraid  to  bully  the  waiters  any  more,  and 
eats  his  mutton-chop  without  moving  Achernon.  Gobemouche 
does  not  take  more  than  two  papers  at  a  time  for  his  private 
reading.  Tiggs  does  not  ring  the  bell  and  cause  the  library- 
waiter  to  walk  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  order  to  give  him 
Vol.  II.,  which  lies  on  the  next  table.  Growler  has  ceased  to 
walk  from  table  to  table  in  the  coffee-room,  and  inspect  what 
people  are  having  for  dinner.  Trotty  Veck  takes  his  own 
umbrella  from  the  hall — the  cotton  one  ;  and  Sydney  Scraper's 
paletot  lined  with  silk  has  been  brought  back  by  Jobbins,  who 
entirely  mistook  it  for  his  own.  Waggle  has  discontinued  telling 
stories  about  the  ladies  he  has  killed.  Snooks  does  not  any 
more  think  it  gentlemanlike  to  blackball  attorneys.  Snuffler  no 
longer  publicly  spreads  out  his  great  red  cotton  pocket  hand- 
kerchief before  the  fire,  for  the  admiration  of  two  hundred 
gentlemen  ;  and  if  one  Club  Snob  has  been  brought  back  to 
the  paths  of  rectitude,  and  if  one  poor  John  has  been  spared  a 
journey  or  a  scolding  —  say,  friends  and  brethren,  if  these 
sketches  of  Club  Snobs  have  been  in  vain  ? 


CHAPTER  LAST,  ^Q? 


CHAPTER  LAST. 

How  it  is  that  we  have  come  to  No.  45  of  this  present  series 
of  papers,  my  dear  friends  and  brother  Snobs,  I  hardly  know-^ 
but  for  a  whole  mortal  year  have  we  been  together,  prattling, 
and  abusing  the  human  race  ;  and  were  we  to  live  for  a  huuv. 
dred  years  more,  I  believe  there  is  plenty  of  subject  for  con- 
versation in  the  enormous  theme  of  Snobs. 

The  national  mind  is  awakened  to  the  subject.  Letters 
pour  in  every  day,  conveying  marks  of  sympathy  ;  directing  the 
attention  of  the  Snob  of  England  to  races  of  Snobs  yet  unde- 
scribed.  "  Where  are  your  Theatrical  Snobs ;  your  Commercial 
Snobs  ;  your  Medical  and  Chirurgical  Snobs  ;  your  Official 
Snobs  ;  your  Legal  Snobs  ;  your  Artistical  Snobs  ;  your  Musical 
Snobs;  your  Sporting  Snobs  ?  "  write  my  esteemed  correspond- 
ents. "  Surely  you  are  not  going  to.  miss  the  Cambridge 
Chancellor  election,  and  omit  showing  up  your  Don  Snobs,  who 
are  coming,  cap  in  hand,  to  a  young  Prince  of  six-and-twenty, 
and  to  implore  him  to  be  the  chief  of  their  renowned  Uni- 
versity ! "  writes  a  friend  who  seals  with  the  signet  of  the  Cam 
and  Isis  Club.  "  Pray,  pray,"  cries  another,  "  now  the  Operas 
are  opening,  give  us  a  lecture  about  Onmibus  Snobs."  Indeed, 
I  should  like  to  write  a  chapter  about  the  Snobbish  Dons  very 
much,  and  another  about  the  Snobbish  Dandies.  Of  my  dear 
Theatrical  Snobs  I  think  with  a  pang  j  and  I  can  hardly  break 
away  from  some  Snobbish  artists,  with  whom  I  have  long,  long 
intended  to  have  a  palaver. 

But  what's  the  use  of  delaying.?  When  these  were  done 
there  would  be  fresh  Snobs  to  portray.  The  labor  is  endless. 
No  single  man  could  complete  it.  Here  are  but  fifty-two  bricks 
• — and  a  pyramid  to  build.  It  is  best  to  stop.  As  Jones  always 
quits  the  room  as  soon  as  he  has  said  his  good  thing, — as  Ci'n- 
cinnatus  and  General  Washington  both  retired  into  private  life 
in  the  height  of  their  popularity, — as  Prince  Albert,  when  he 
laid  the  first  stone  of  the  Exchange,  left  the  bricklayers  to  com- 
plete that  edifice  and  went  home  to  his  royal  dinner, — as  the 
poet  Bunn  comes  forward  at  the  end  of  the  season,  and  with 
feelings  too  tumultuous  to  describe,  blesses  his  kyind  friends 
over  the  footlights  :  so,  friends,  in  the  flush  of  conquest  and  the 
splendor  of  victory,  amid    the  shouts  and   the  plaudits  of  a 


398  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS. 

people — triumphant  yet  modest — the  Snob  of  England  bids  ye 
farewell. 

But  only  for  a  season.  Not  forever.  No,  no.  There  is 
one  celebrated  author  whom  I  admire  very  much — who  has 
been  taking  leave  of  the  public  any  time  these  ten  years  in  his 
prefaces,  and  always  comes  back  again,  when  everybody  is  glad 
to  see  him.  How  can  he  have  the  heart  to  be  saying  good-by 
so  often  ?  I  believe  that  Bunn  is  affected  when  he  blesses  the 
people.  Parting  is  always  painful.  Even  the  familiar  bore  is 
dear  to  you.  I  should  be  sorry  to  shake  hands  even  with  Jaw- 
kins  for  the  last  time.  I  think  a  well-constituted  convict,  on 
coming  home  from  transportation,  ought  to  be  rather  sad  when 
he  takes  leave  of  Van  Diemen's  Land.  When  the  curtain  goes 
down  on  the  last  night  of  a  pantomime,  poor  old  clown  must  be 
very  dismal,  depend  on  it.  Ha  !  with  what  joy  he  rushes  for- 
ward on  the  evening  of  the  26th  of  December  next,  and  says — 
"  How  are  you  i* — Here  we  are  !  "  But  I  am  growing  too  senti- 
mental : — to  return  to  the  theme. 

The  national  mind  is  awakened  to  the  subject  of 
SNOBS.  The  word  Snob  has  taken  a  place  in  our  honest  English 
vocabulary.  We  can't  define  it,  i^erhaps.  We  can't  say  what 
it  is,  any  more  than  we  can  define  wit,  or  humor,  or  humbug ; 
but  we  know  what  it  is.  Some  weeks  since,  happening  to  have 
the  felicity  to  sit  next  to  a  young  lady  at  a  hospitable  table, 
where  poor  old  Jawkins  was  holding  forth  in  a  very  absurd 

pompous  manner,  I  wrote  upon  the  spotless  damask  "  S B," 

and  called  my  neighbor's  attention  to  the  little  remark. 

That  young  lady  smiled.  She  knew  it  at  once.  Her  mind 
straightway  filled  up  the  two  letters  concealed  by  apostrophic 
reserve,  and  I  read  in  her  assenting  eyes  that  she  knew  Jaw- 
kins  was  a  Snob.  You  seldom  got  them  to  make  use  of  the 
word  as  yet,  it  is  true  ;  but  it  is  inconceivable  how  pretty  an 
expression  their  little  smiling  mouths  assume  when  they  speak 
it  out.  If  any  young  lady  doubts,  just  let  her  go  up  to  her  own 
room,  look  at  herself  steadily  in  the  glass,  and  say  "  Snob."  If 
she  tries  this  simple  experiment,  my  life  for  it,  she  will  smile, 
and  own  that  the  word  becomes  her  mouth  amazingly.  A  pretty 
little  round  word,  all  composed  of  soft  letters,  with  a  hiss  at 
the  beginning,  just  to  make  it  piquant,  as  it  were. 

Jawkins,  meanwhile,  went  on  blundering,  and  bragging,  and 
boring,  quite  unconsciously.  And  so  he  will,  no  doubt,  go  on 
roaring  and  braying  to  the  end  of  time,  or  at  least  so  long  as 
people  will  hear  him.     You  cannot  alter  the  nature  of  men  and 


CHAPTER  LAST. 


399 


Snobs  by  any  force  of  satire  ;  as,  by  laying  ever  so  many  stripes 
on  a  donkey's  back,  you  can't  turn  him  into  a  zebra. 

But  we  can  warn  the  neighborhood  that  the  person  whom 
they  and  Jawkins  admire  is  an  impostor.  We  can  apply  the 
Snob  test  to  him,  and  try  whether  he  is  conceited  and  a  quack, 
whether  pompous  and  lacking  humility — whether  uncharitable 
and  proud  of  his  narrow  soul.  How  does  he  treat  a  great  man 
— how  regard  a  small  one  ?  How  does  he  comport  himself  in 
the  presence  of  His  Grace  the  Duke  ;  and  how  in  that  of  Smith, 
the  tradesman  1 

And  it  seems  to  me  that  all  English  society  is  cursed  by  this 
mammoniacal  superstition  ;  and  that  we  are  sneaking  and  bow- 
ing and  cringing  on  the  one  hand,  or  bullying  and  scorning  on 
the  other,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest.  My  wife  speaks 
with  great  circumspection — "  proper  pride,"  she  calls  it — to 
our  neighbor  the  tradesman's  lady :  and  she,  I  mean  Mrs. 
Snob, — Eliza — would  give  one  of  her  eyes  to  go  to  court,  as  her 
cousin,  the  Captain's  wife,  did.  She,  again,  is  a  good  soul, 
but  it  costs  her  agonies  to  be  obliged  to  confess  that  we  live 
in  Upper  Thompson  Street,  Somer's  Town.  And  though  I 
believe  in  her  heart  Mrs.  Whiskerington  is  fonder  of  us  than  of 
her  cousins,  the  Smigsmags,  you  should  hear  how  she  goes  on 
prattling  about  Lady  Smigsmag, — and  "  I  said  to  Sir  John,  my 
dear  John  ;  "  and  about  the  Smigsmags'  house  and  parties  in 
Hyde  Park  Terrace. 

Lady  Smigsmag,  when  she  meets  Eliza, — who  is  a  sort  of  a 
kind  of  a  species  of  a  connection  of  the  family,  pokes  out  one 
linger,  which  my  wife  is  at  liberty  to  embrace  in  the  most  cor- 
dial manner  she  can  devise.  But  oh,  you  should  see  her  lady- 
ship's behavior  on  her  first-chop  dinner-party  days,  when  Lord 
and  Lady  Longears  come  ! 

I  can  bear  it  no  longer — this  diabolical  invention  of  gentility 
which  kills  natural  kindliness  and  honest  friendship.  Proper 
pride,  indeed  !  Rank  and  precedence,  forsooth  !  The  table 
of  ranks  and  degrees  is  a  lie,  and  should  be  flung  into  the  fire. 
Organize  rank  and  precedence !  that  was  well  for  the  masters 
of  ceremonies  of  former  ages.  Come  forward,  some  great 
marshal,  and  organize  Equality  in  society,  and  your  rod  shall 
swallow  up  ail  the  juggling  old  court  gold-sticks.  If  this  is  not 
gospel-truth — if  the  world  does  not  tend  to  this — if  hereditary- 
great-man  worship  is  not  a  humbug  and  an  idolatry — let  us 
liave  the  Stuarts  back  again,  and  crop  the  Free  Press's  ears  in 
the  pillory. 

If  ever  our  cousins,  the  Smigsmags,  asked  me  to  meet  Lord 


400 


THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS, 


Longears,  I  would  like  to  take  an  opportunity  after  dinner  and 
say,  in  the  most  good-natured  way  in  the  world  : — Sir,  P'ortune 
makes  you  a  present  of  a  number  of  thousand  pounds  every 
year.  The  ineffable  wisdom  of  our  ancestors  has  placed  you 
as  a  chief  and  hereditary  legislator  over  me.  Our  admirable 
Constitution  (the  pride  of  Britons  and  envy  of  surrounding 
nations)  obliges  me  to  receive  you  as  my  senator,  superior,  and 
guardian.  Your  eldest  son,  Fitz-Heehaw,  is  sure  of  a  place  in 
Parliament ;  your  younger  sons,  the  De  Brays,  will  kindly  con- 
descend to  be  post-captains  and  lieutenant-colonels,  and  to 
represent  us  in  foreign  courts  or  to  take  a  good  living  when  it 
falls  convenient.  These  prizes  our  admirable  Constitution  (the 
pride  and  envy  of,  &c.)  pronounces  to  be  your  clue  :  without 
count  of  your  dulness,  your  vices,  your  selfishness  ;  or  your 
entire  incapacity  and  folly.  Dull  as  you  may  be  (and  we  have 
as  good  a  right  to  assume  that  my  lord  is  an  ass,  as  the  other 
proposition,  that  he  is  an  enlightened  patriot); — dull,  I  say,  as 
you  may  be,  no  one  Avill  accuse  you  of  such  monstrous  folly,  as 
to  suppose  that  you  are  indifferent  to  the  good  luck  which  you 
possess,  or  have  any  inclination  to  part  with  it.  No — and 
patriots  as  we  are,  under  happier  circumstances.  Smith  and  I, 
I  have  no  doubt,  were  we  dukes  ourselves,  would  stand  by  our 
order. 

We  would  submit  good-naturedly  to  sit  in  a  high  place.  We 
wculd  acquiesce  in  that  admirable  Constitution  (pride  and  envy 
of,  &c.)  which  made  us  chiefs  and  the  world  our  inferiors  ;  we 
would  not  cavil  particularly  at  that  notion  of  hereditary  supe- 
riority which  brought  so  many  simple  people  cringing  to  our 
knees.  Maybe  we  would  rally  round  the  Corn-Laws  ;  we  would 
make  a  stand  against  the  Reform  Bill ;  we  would  die  rather 
than  repeal  the  Acts  against  Catholics  and  Dissenters  ;  we 
would,  by  our  noble  system  of  class-legislation,  bring  Ireland 
to  its  present  admirable  condition. 

But  Smith  and  I  are  not  Earls  as  yet.  We  don't  believe 
that  it  is  for  the  interest  of  Smith's  army  that  young  De  Bray 
should  be  a  Colonel  at  five-and-twenty, — of  Smith's  diplomatic 
relations  that  Lord  Longears  should  go  Ambassador  to  Con- 
stantinople,— of  our  politics,  that  Longears  should  put  his 
hereditary  foot  into  them. 

This  bowing  and  cringing  Smith  believes  to  be  the  act  of 
Snobs  J  and  he  will  do  all  in  his  might  and  main  to  be  a  Snob 
and  to  submit  to  Snobs  no  longer.  To  Longears  he  says, 
"  We  can'i  help  seeing,  Longears,  that  we  are  as  good  as  you. 
We  can  spell  even  better ;  we  can  think  quite  as  rightly  ;  we 


CHAPTER  LAST, 


401 


will  not  have  you  for  our  master,  or  black  your  shoes  any  more. 
Your  footmen  do  it,  but  they  are  paid ;  and  the  fellow  who 
comes  to  get  a  list  of  the  company  when  you  give  a  banquet  or 
a  dancing  breakfast  at  Longueoreille  House,  gets  money  from 
the  newspapers  for  performing  that  service.  But  for  us,  thank 
you  for  nothing,  Longears  my  boy,  and  we  don't  wish  to  pay 
you  any  more  than  we  owe.  We  will  take  off  our  hats  to  Wel- 
lington because  he  is  Wellington  ;  but  to  you — who  are  you  ?  " 

I  am  sick  of  Court  Ciradars.  I  loathe  haut-ton  intelligence. 
I  believe  such  words  as  Fashionable,  Exclusive,  Aristocratic, 
and  the  like,  to  be  wicked,  unchristian  epithets,  that  ought  to 
be  banished  from  honest  vocabularies.  A  Court  system  that 
sends  men  of  genius  to  the  second  table,  I  hold  to  be  a  Snob- 
bish system,  A  society  that  sets  up  to  be  polite,  and  ignores 
Arts  and  Letters,  I  hold  to  be  a  Snobbish  society.  You,  who 
despise  your  neighbor,  are  a  Snob ;  you,  who  forget  your  own 
friends,  meanly  to  follow  after  those  of  a  higher  degree,  are  a 
Snob ;  you,  who  are  ashamed  of  your  poverty,  and  blush  for 
your  calling,  are  a  Snob  ;  as  are  you  who  boast  of  your  pedi- 
gree, or  are  proud  of  your  wealth. 

To  laugh  at  such  is  Mr.  Punches  business.  May  he  laugh 
honestly,  hit  no  foul  blow  and  tell  the  truth  when  at  his  very 
broadest  grin — never  forgetting  that  if  Fun  is  good,  Truth  is 
still  better,  and  Love  best  of  all. 


BALLADS. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


This  Edition  of  Mr.  Thackeray's  "  Ballads  "  will  be  found  to  include  all 
the  verses  that  are  scattered  throughout  the  Author's  various  writings. 


B  A  LL  AD  S. 


THE  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  DRUM. 
Part  I. 

At  Paris,  hard  by  the  Maine  barriers. 

Whoever  will  choose  to  repair, 
Midst  a  dozen  of  wooden-legged  warriors 

May  haply  fall  in  with  old  Pierre. 
On  the  sunshiny  bench  of  a  tavern 

He  sits  and  he  prates  of  old  wars, 
And  moistens  his  pipe  of  tobacco 

With  a  drink  that  is  named  after  Mars. 

The  beer  makes  his  tongue  run  the  quicker, 

And  as  long  as  his  tap  never  fails. 
Thus  over  his  favorite  liquor 

Old  Peter  will  tell  his  old  tales. 
Says  he,  "  In  my  life's  ninety  summers 

Strange  changes  and  chances  I've  seen,— 
So  here's  to  all  gentleman  drummers 

That  ever  have  thump'd  on  a  skin. 

**  Brought  up  in  the  art  military 

For  four  generations  we  are  ; 
My  ancestors  drumm'd  for  King  Harry, 

The  Huguenot  lad  of  Navarre. 
And  as  each  man  in  life  has  his  statioa 

According  as  Fortune  may  fix, 
While  Conde  was  waving  the  baton, 

My  grandsire  was  trolling  the  sticks 


U^ 


4o6  BALLADS. 

"  Ah !  those  were  the  days  for  commanders  f 

What  glories  my  grandfather  won, 
Ere  bigots,  and  lackeys,  and  panders 

The  fortunes  of  France  had  undone ! 
In  Germany,  Flanders,  and  Holland, — 

What  foeman  resisted  us  then  ? 
No  ;  my  grandsire  was  ever  victorious, 

My  grandsire  and  Monsieur  Turenne. 

*'  He  died  :  and  our  noble  battalions 

The  jade  fickle  Fortune  forsook  ; 
And  at  Blenheim,  in  spite  of  our  valiance. 

The  victory  lay  with  Malbrook, 
The  news  it  was  brought  to  King  Louis ; 

Corbleu  !  how  his  Majesty  swore 
When  he  heard  they  had  taken  my  grandsire  \ 

And  twelve  thousand  gentlemen  more. 

"At  Namur,  Ramillies,  and  Malplaquet 

Were  we  posted,  on  plain  or  in  trench : 
Malbrook  only  need  to  attack  it 

And  away  from  him  scamper'd  we  French. 
Cheer  up  'tis  no  use  to  be  glum,  boys, — 

'Tis  written,  since  fighting  begun. 
That  sometimes  we  fight  and  we  conquer, 

And  sometimes  we  fight  and  we  run. 

"  To  fight  and  to  run  was  our  fate  : 

Our  fortune  and  fame  had  departed. 
And  so  perish'd  Louis  the  great, — 

Old,  lonely,  and  half  broken-hearted. 
His  coffin  they  pelted  with  mud, 

His  body  they  tried  to  lay  hands  on ; 
And  so  having  buried  King  Louis 

They  loyally  served  his  great-grandson. 

"  God  save  the  beloved  King  Louis ! 

(For  so  he  was  nicknamed  by  some) 
And  now  came  my  father  to  do  his 

King's  orders  and  beat  on  the  drum. 
My  grandsire  was  dead,  but  his  bones 

Must  have  shaken  I'm  certain  for  joy, 
To  hear  daddy  drumming  the  English 

From  the  meadows  of  famed  Fontenoy. 


THE  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  DRUM,  407 

«  So  well  did  he  drum  in  that  battle 

That  the  enemy  show'd  us  their  backs ; 
Corbleu  !  it  was  pleasant  to  rattle 

The  sticks  and  to  follow  old  Saxe ! 
We  next  had  Soubise  as  a  leader, 

And  as  luck  hath  its  changes  and  fits, 
At  Rossbach,  in  spite  of  dad's  drumming,     • 

'Tis  said  we  were  beaten  by  Fritz. 

*«  And  now  daddy  cross'd  the  Atlantic, 

To  drum  for  Montcalm  and  his  men ; 
Morbleu  !  but  it  makes  a  man  frantic 

To  think  we  were  beaten  again  ! 
My  daddy  he  cross'd  the  wide  ocean. 

My  mother  brought  me  on  her  neck, 
And  we  came  in  the  year  fifty-seven 

To  guard  the  good  town  of  Quebec. 

« In  the  year  fifty-nine  came  the  Britons,- 

FuU  well  I  remember  the  day, — 
They  knocked  at  our  gates  for  admittance. 

Their  vessels  were  moor'd  in  our  bay. 
Says  our  general,  '  Drive  me  yon  red-coats 

Away  to  the  sea  whence  they  come  ! ' 
So  we  march'd  against  Wolfe  and  his  bull-dogs, 

We  marched  at  the  sound  of  the  drum. 

"  I  think  I  can  see  my  poor  mammy 

With  me  in  her  hand  as  she  waits, 
And  our  regiment,  slowly  retreating. 

Pours  back  through  the  citadel  gates. 
Dear  mammy  she  looks  in  their  faces. 

And  asks  if  her  husband  is  come  ? 
— He  is  lying  all  cold  on  the  glacis. 

And  will  never  more  beat  on  the  drum. 

"  Come,  drink,  'tis  no  use  to  be  glum,  boys. 

He  died  like  a  soldier  in  glory  ; 
Here's  a  glass  to  the  health  of  all  drum-boys, 

And -now  I'll  commence  my  own  story. 
Once  more  did  we  cross  the  salt  ocean. 

We  came  in  the  year  eighty-one  ; 
And  the  wrongs  of  my  father  the  drummer 

Were  avenged  by  the  drummer  his  son. 


408  BALLADS. 

"  In  Chesapeake  Bay  we  were  landed. 

In  vain  strove  the  British  to  pass  : 
Rochambeau  our  armies  commanded, 

Our  ships  they  were  led  by  De  Grasse. 
Morbleu  !  how  I  rattled  the  drumsticks 

The  day  we  march  d  mto  Yorktown; 
.Ten  thousand  of  beef-eating  British 

Their  weapons  we  caused  to  lay  down. 

**  Then  homewards  returning  victorious, 

In  peace  to  our  country  we  came, 
And  were  thanked  for  our  glorious  actions 

By  Louis  Sixteenth  of  the  name. 
What  drummer  on  earth  could  be  prouder 

Than  I,  while  I  drumm'd  at  Versailles 
To  the  lovely  court  ladies  in  powder. 

And  lappets,  and  long  satin-tails  ? 

"  The  Princes  that  day  pass'd  before  us, 

Our  countrymen's  glory  and  hope  ; 
Monsieur,  who  was  learned  in  Horace, 

D'Artois,  who  could  dance  the  tight-rope. 
One  night  we  kept  guard  for  the  Queen 

At  her  Majesty's  opera-box, 
While  the  King,  that  majestical  monarch, 

Sat  filing  at  home  at  his  locks. 

"Yes,  I  drumm'd  for  the  fair  Antoinette, 

And  so  smiling  she  look'd  and  so  tender, 
That  our  ofificers,  privates,  and  drummers, 

All  vow'd  they  would  die  to  defend  her. 
But  she  cared  not  for  us  honest  fellows, 

Who  fought  and  who  bled  in  her  wars. 
She  sneer'd  at  our  gallant  Rochambeau, 

And  turned  Lafayette  out  of  doors. 

*' Ventrebleu  !  then  I  swore  a  great  oath, 

No  more  to  such  tyrants  to  kneel. 
And  so  just  to  keep  up  my  drumming, 

One  day  I  drumm'd  down  the  Bastile. 
Ho,  landlord  !  a  stoup  of  fresh  wine. 

Come,  comrades  a  bumper  we'll  try. 
And  drink  to  the  year  eighty-nine 

And  the  glorious  fourth  of  July  ! 


TETE  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  DRUM.  409 

"Then  bravely  our  cannon  it  thunder'd 

As  onwards  our  patriots  bore. 
Our  enemies  were  but  a  hundred, 

And  we  twenty  thousand  or  more. 
They  carried  the  news  to  King  Louis. 

He  heard  it  as  calm  as  you  please, 
And,  like  a  majestical  monarch. 

Kept  filing  his  locks  and  his  keys. 

**  We  showM  our  republican  courage 

We  storm'd  and  we  broke  the  great  gate  in, 
And  we  murder'd  the  insolent  governor 

For  daring  to  keep  us  a-waiting. 
Lambesc  and  his  squadrons  stood  by  : 

They  never  stirr'd  finger  or  thumb. 
The  saucy  aristocrats  trembled 

As  they  heard  the  republican  drum. 

*'  Hurrah  !  what  a  storm  was  a-brewing : 

The  day  of  our  vengeance  was  come  ! 
Through  scenes  of  what  carnage  and  ruin 

Did  I  beat  on  the  patriot  drum  ! 
Let  us  drink  to  the  famed  tenth  of  August : 

At  midnight  I  beat  the  tattoo, 
And  woke  up  the  Pikemen  of  Paris 

To  follow  the  bold  Barbaroux. 

"  With  pikes,  and  with  shouts,  and  with  torches 

March'd  onwards  our  dusty  battalions, 
And  we  girt  the  tall  castle  of  Louis, 

A  million  of  tatterdemalions ! 
We  storm'd  the  fair  gardens  where  tower'd 

The  walls  of  his  heritage  splendid. 
Ah,  shame  on  him,  craven  and  coward, 

That  had  not  the  heart  to  defend  it ! 

"  With  the  crown  of  his  sires  on  his  head, 

His  nobles  and  knights  by  his  side, 
At  the  foot  of  his  ancestors'  palace 

'Twere  easy,  methinks,  to  have  died. 
But  no :  when  we  burst  through  his  barriers, 

Mid  heaps  of  the  dying  and  dead, 
In  vain  through  the  chambers  we  sought  him 

He  had  turn'd  like  a  craven  and  fled. 


4IO 


BALLADS. 


"  You  all  know  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  ? 

'Tis  hard  by  the  Tuilerie  wall. 
Mid  terraces,  fountains,  and  statues 

There  rises  an  obelisk  tall. 
There  rises  an  obelisk  tall, 

All  garnish'd  and  gilted  the  base  is  : 
'Tis  surely  the  gayest  of  all 

Our  beautiful  city's  gay  places. 

"  Around  it  are  gardens  and  flowers, 

And  the  Cities  of  France  on  their  thrones, 
Each  crown'd  with  his  circlet  of  flowers 

Sits  watching  this  biggest  of  stones  ! 
I  love  to  go  sit  in  the  sun  there. 

The  flowers  and  fountains  to  see, 
And  to  think  of  the  deeds  that  were  done  there 

In  the  glorious  year  ninety-three. 

"  'Twas  here  stood  the  Altar  of  Freedom  5 

And  though  neither  marble  nor  gilding 
Was  used  in  those  days  to  adorn 

Our  simple  republican  building, 
Corbleu  !  but  the  mere  guillotine 

Cared  little  for  splendor  or  show, 
So  you  gave  her  an  axe  and  a  beam, 

And  a  plank  and  a  basket  or  so. 

"  Awful  and  proud,  and  erect, 

Here  sat  our  republican  goddess. 
Each  morning  her  table  we  deck'd 

With  dainty  aristocrats'  bodies. 
The  people  each  day  flocked  around 

As  she  sat  at  her  meat  and  her  wine  : 
'Twas  always  the  use  of  our  nation 

To  witness  the  sovereign  dine. 

"Young  virgins  with  fair  golden  tresses. 
Old  silver'd-hair'd  prelates  and  priests, 

Dukes,  marquises,  barons,  princesses, 
Were  splendidly  served  at  her  feasts. 


THE  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  DRUM. 

Ventrebleu  !  but  we  pamper'd  our  ogress 
With  the  best  that  our  nation  could  brings, 

And  dainty  she  grew  in  her  progress, 
And  called  for  the  head  of  a  King! 

^  She  called  for  the  blood  of  our  King, 

And  straight  from  his  prison  we  drew  him  ; 
And  to  her  with  shouting  we  led  him, 

And  took  him,  and  bound  him,  and  slew  Iiim. 
The  monarchs  of  Europe  against  me 

Have  plotted  a  godless  alliance  : 
I'll  fling  them  the  head  of  King  Louis,' 

She  said,  *as  my  gage  of  defiance.' 

"  I  see  him  as  now,  for  a  moment. 

Away  from  his  jailers  he  broke; 
And  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold, 

And  linger'd,  and  fain  would  have  spoke. 
Ho,  drummer!  quick!  silence  yon  Capet,' 

Says  Santerre,  'with  a  beat  of  your  drum.' 
Lustily  then  did  I  tap  it, 

And  the  son  of  Saint  Louis  was  dumb. 
«  «  «  » 

Part  IL 

"The  glorious  days  of  September 

Saw  many  aristocrats  fall  ; 
'Twas  then  that  our  pikes  drunk  the  blood 

In  the  beautiful  breast  of  Lamballe, 
Pardi,  'twas  a  beautiful  lady  ! 

I  seldom  have  look'd  on  her  like  , 
And  I  drumm'd  for  a  gallant  procession, 

That  marched  with  her  head  on  a  pike. 

"  Let's  show  the  pale  head  to  the  Queen, 

We  said — she'll  remember  it  welL 
She  looked  from  the  bars  of  her  prison, 

And  shriek'd  as  she  saw  it,  and  fell. 
We  set  up  a  shout  at  her  screaming, 

We  laugh'd  at  the  fright  she  had  shown 
At  the  sight  of  the  head  of  her  minion  ; 

How  she'd  tremble  to  part  with  her  own. 


411 


412  BALLADS. 

"  We  had  taken  the  head  of  King  Capet, 

We  called  for  the  blood  of  his  wife ; 
Undaunted  she  came  to  the  scaffold, 

And  bared  her  fair  neck  to  the  knife. 
As  she  felt  the  foul  fingers  that  touch'd  her, 

She  shrunk,  but  she  deigned  not  to  speak: 
She  look'd  with  a  royal  disdain, 

And  died  with  a  blush  on  her  cheek ! 

"  'Twas  thus  that  our  country  was  saved ; 

So  told  us  the  safety  committee  ! 
But  psha  !  I've  the  heart  of  a  soldier 

All  gentleness,  mercy,  and  pity. 
I  loathed  to  assist  at  such  deeds, 

And  my  drum  beat  its  loudest  of  tunes 
As  we  offered  to  justice  offended 

The  blood  of  the  bloody  tribunes. 

"  Away  with  such  foul  recollections  ! 

No  more  of  the  axe  and  the  block ; 
I  saw  the  last  fight  of  the  sections, 

As  they  fell  'neath  our  guns  at  Saint  Rock. 
Young  Bonaparte  led  us  that  day  ; 

When  he  sought  the  Italian  frontier, 
I  follow'd  my  gallant  young  captain, 

I  follow'd  him  many  a  long  year. 

"  We  came  to  an  army  in  rags, 

Our  general  was  but  a  boy 
When  we  first  saw  the  Austrian  flags 

Flaunt  proud  in  the  fields  of  Savoy. 
In  the  glorious  year  ninety-six, 

We  march 'd  to  the  banks  of  the  Po; 
I  carried  my  drum  and  my  sticks, 

And  we  laid  the  proud  Austrian  low. 

"  In  triumph  we  enter'd  Milan, 

We  seized  on  the  Mantuan  keys ; 
The  troops  of  the  Emperor  ran. 

And  the  Pope  he  fell  down  on  his  knees."— 
Pierre's  comrades  here  call'd  a  fresh  bottle, 

And  clubbing  together  their  wealth, 
Tney  drank  to  the  Army  of  Italy, 

And  General  Bonaparte's  health. 


THE  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  DRUM.  413 

The  drummer  now  bared  his  old  breast, 

And  show'd  us  a  plenty  of  scars, 
Rude  presents  that  Fortune  had  made  him, 

In  fifty  victorious  wars. 
"  This  came  when  I  foUovv'd  bold  Kleber — 

'Twas  shot  by  a  Mameluke  gun  ; 
And  this  from  an  Austrian  sabre, 

When  the  field  of  Marengo  was  won. 

*'  My  forehead  has  many  deep  furrows, 

But  this  is  the  deepest  of  all : 
A  Brunswicker  made  it  at  Jena, 

Beside  the  fair  river  of  Saal. 
This  cross,  'twas  the  Emperor  gave  it ; 

(God  bless  him  !)  it  covers  a  blow ; 
I  had  it  at  Austerlitz  fight, 

As  I  beat  on  my  drum  in  the  snow. 

"  'Twas  thus  that  we  conquer'd  and  fought ; 

But  wherefore  continue  the  story  ? 
There's  never  a  baby  in  France 

But  has  heard  of  our  chief  and  our  glory,—- 
But  has  heard  of  our  chief  and  our  fame, 

His  sorrows  and  triumphs  can  tell, 
How  bravely  Napoleon  conquer'd. 

How  bravely  and  sadly  he  fell. 

"  It  makes  my  old  heart  to  beat  higher, 

To  think  of  the  deeds  that  I  saw  ; 
I  follow'd  bold  Ney  through  the  fire, 

And  charged  at  the  side  of  Murat." 
And  so  did  old  Peter  continue 

His  story  of  twenty  brave  years ; 
His  audience  follow'd  with  comments — 

Rude  comments  of  curses  and  tears. 

He  told  how  the  Prussians  in  vain 

Had  died  in  defence  of  their  land  ; 
His  audience  laugh'd  at  the  story. 

And  vow'd  that  their  captain  was  grand ! 
He  had  fought  the  red  English,  he  said, 

In  many  a  battle  of  Spain  ; 
They  cursed  the  red  English,  and  prayed 

To  meet  them  and  fight  them  agaia. 


414 


BALLADS. 

He  told  them  how  Russia  was  lost, 

Mad  winter  not  driven  them  back  ; 
And  his  company  cursed  the  quick  frost, 

And  doubly  they  cursed  the  Cossack. 
He  told  how  the  stranger  arrived  ; 

They  wept  at  the  tale  of  disgrace ; 
And  they  long'd  but  for  one  battle  more, 

The  stain  of  their  shame  to  efface ! 

*'  Our  country  their  hordes  overrun, 

We  fled  to  the  fields  of  Champagne, 
And  fought  them,  though  twenty  to  one, 

And  beat  them  again  and  again  ! 
Our  warrior  was  conquer'd  at  last  ; 

They  bade  him  his  crown  to  resign  ; 
To  fate  and  his  country  he  yielded 

The  rights  of  himself  and  his  line. 

"  He  came,  and  among  us  he  stood, 

Around  him  we  press'd  in  a  throng : 
We  could  not  regard  him  for  weeping, 

Who  had  led  us  and  loved  us  so  long. 
*I  have  led  you  for  twenty  long  years,' 

Napoleon  said,  ere  he  went; 
*  Wherever  vifas  honor  I  found  you. 

And  with  you,  my  sons,  am  content ! 

"  '  Though  Europe  against  me  was  arm'd. 
Your  chiefs  and  my  people  are  true  ; 

I  still  might  have  struggled  with  fortune, 
And  baffled  all  Europe  with  you. 

*'  *  But  France  would  have  suffer'd  the  while, 

'Tis  best  that  I  suffer  alone ; 
I  go  to  my  place  of  exile, 

To  write  of  the  deeds  we  have  6one. 

*'  *  Be  true  to  the  king  that  they  give  you, 
We  may  not  embrace  ere  we  part ; 

But,  General,  reach  me  your  hand. 
And  press  me,  I  pray,  to  your  heart.* 

*'  He  call'd  for  our  battle  standard ; 
One  kiss  to  the  eagle  he  gave. 


THE  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  DRUM.  415 

*  Dear  eagle  ! '  he  said,  '  may  this  kiss 
Long  sound  in  the  hearts  of  the  brave  !  * 

'Twas  thus  that  Napoleon  left  us  ; 

Our  people  were  weeping  and  mute, 
As  he  pass'd  through  the  lines  of  his  guard, 

And  our  drums  beat  the  notes  of  salute. 


*'  I  look'd  when  the  drumming  was  o'er, 

I  look'd,  but  our  hero  was  gone  ; 
We  were  destined  to  see  him  once  more. 

When  we  fought  on  the  Mount  of  St.  John 
The  Emperor  rode  through  our  files  ; 

'Twas  June,  and  a  fair  Sunday  morn 
The  lines  of  our  warriors  for  miles 

Stretch'd  wide  through  the  Waterloo  corn. 

"  In  thousands  we  stood  on  the  plain, 

The  red-coats  were  crowning  the  height ; 
*  Go  scatter  yon  English,'  he  said  ; 

'  We'll  sup,  lads,  at  Brussels  to-night.' 
We  answer'd  his  voice  with  a  shout ; 

Our  eagles  were  bright  in  the  sun ; 
Our  drums  and  our  cannon  spoke  out, 

And  the  thundering  battle  begun. 

*'  One  charge  to  another  succeeds. 

Like  waves  that  a  hurricane  bears  ; 
All  day  do  our  galloping  steeds 

Dash  fierce  on  the  enemy's  squares. 
At  noon  we  began  the  fell  onset : 

We  charged  up  the  Englishman's  hill ; 
And  madly  we  charged  it  at  sunset — 

His  banners  were  floating  there  still. 

*' — Go  to  !  I  will  tell  you  no  more  ; 

You  know  how  the  battle  was  lost. 
Ho  !  fetch  me  a  beaker  of  wine. 

And,  comrades,  I'll  give  you  a  toast. 
I'll  give  you  a  curse  on  all  traitors, 

Who  plotted  our  Emperor's  ruin ; 
And  a  curse  on  those  red-coated  English, 

Whose  bayonets  help'd  our  undoing. 


,41 6  BALLADS. 

A  curse  on  those  British  assassins, 

Who  ordcr'd  the  slaughter  of  Ney; 
A  curse  on  Sir  Hudson,  who  tortured 

The  life  of  our  hero  away. 
A  curse  on  all  Russians — I  hate  them^ 

On  all  Prussian  and  Austrian  fry  ; 
And  oh  !  but  I  pray  we  may  meet  them. 

And  fight  them  again  ere  I  die." 

'Twas  thus  old  Peter  did  conclude 
His  chronicle  with  curses  fit. 

He  spoke  the  tale  in  accents  rude 
In  ruder  verse  I  copied  it. 

Perhaps  the  tale  a  moral  bears, 

(All  tales  in  time  to  this  must  come, 

The  story  of  two  hundred  years 
Writ  on  the  parchment  of  a  drum. 

What  Peter  told  with  drum  and  stick. 

Is  endless  theme  for  poet's  pen  • 
Is  found  in  endless  quartos  thick, 

Enormous  books  by  learned  men. 

And  ever  since  historian  writ. 
And  ever  since  a  bard  could  sing, 

Doth  each  exalt  with  all  his  wit 
The  noble  art  of  murdering:. 

We  love  to  read  the  glorious  page, 
How  bold  Achilles  kill'd  his  foe  : 

And  Turnus,  fell'd  by  Trojans'  rage, 
Went  howling  to  the  shades  below. 

How  Godfrey  led  his  red-cross  knights, 
How  mad  Orlando  slash'd  and  slew; 

There's  not  a  single  bard  that  writes 
But  doth  the  glorious  theme  renew. 

And  while,  in  fashion  picturesque. 
The  poet  rhymes  of  blood  and  blows, 

The  grave  historian  at  his  desk 
Describes  the  same  in  classic  prose. 


THE  CHRONTCLE  OF  THE  DRUM.  41 J 

Go  read  the  works  of  Reverend  Cox, 

You'll  duly  see  recorded  there 
The  history  of  the  self-same  knocks 

Here  roughly  sung  by  Drummer  Pierre 

Of  battles  fierce  and  warriors  big, 

He  writes  in  phrases  dull  and  slow, 
And  waves  his  cauliflower  wig. 

And  shouts  "  Saint  George  for  Marlborow ! " 

Take  Doctor  Southey  from  the  shelf, 

An  LL.D., — a  peaceful  man  ; 
Good  Lord,  how  doth  he  plume  himself 

Because  we  beat  the  Corsican  ! 

From  first  to  last  his  page  is  filled 

With  stirring  tales  how  blows  were  struck. 

He  shows  how  we  the  Frenchmen  kill'd, 
And  praises  God  for  our  good  luck. 

Some  hints,  'tis  true,  of  politics 

The  doctors  give  and  statesman's  art : 
Pierre  only  bangs  his  drum  and  sticks, 

And  understands  the  bloody  part. 

He  cares  not  what  the  cause  may  be, 

He  is  not  nice  for  wrong  and  right ; 
But  show  him  where's  the  enemy, 

He  only  asks  to  drum  and  fight. 

They  bid  him  fight, — perhaps  he  wins. 

And  when  he  tells  the  story  o'er. 
The  honest  savage  brags  and  grins, 

And  only  longs  to  fight  once  more. 

But  luck  may  change,  and  valor  fail, 

Our  drummer,  Peter,  meet  reverse, 
And  with  a  moral  points  his  tale — 

The  end  of  all  such  tales — a  curse. 

Last  year,  my  love,  it  was  my  hap 

Behind  a  grenadier  to  be. 
And,  but  he  wore  a  hairy  cap, 

No  taller  man,  methinks.  than  me. 


4i8  BALLADS. 

Prince  Albert  and  the  Queen,  God  wot, 
(Be  blessings  on  the  glorious  pair !) 

Before  us  passed,  I  saw  them  not, 
I  only  saw  a  cap  of  hair. 

Your  orthodox  historian  puts 

In  foremost  rank  the  soldier  thus. 
The  red-coat  bully  in  his  boots, 

That  hides  the  march  of  men  from  us. 

He  puts  him  there  in  foremost  rank. 

You  wonder  at  his  cap  of  hair : 
You  hear  his  sabre's  cursed  clank, 

His  spurs  are  jingling  everywhere. 

Go  to  \  I  hate  him  and  his  trade  : 
Who  bade  us  so  to  cringe  and  bend. 

And  all  God's  peaceful  people  made 
To  such  as  him  subservient  ? 

Tell  me  what  find  we  to  admire 

In  epaulets  and  scarlet  coats. 
In  men,  because  they  load  and  fire, 

And  know  the  art  of  cutting  throats  ? 

*  *  * 

Ah,  gentle,  tender  lady  mine  ! 

The  winter  wind  blows  cold  and  shrill. 
Come,  fill  me  one  more  glass  of  wine, 

And  give  the  silly  fools  their  will. 

And  what  care  we  for  war  and  wrack, 

How  kings  and  heroes  rise  and  fall ; 
Look  yonder,*  in  his  coffin  black. 

There  lies  the  greatest  of  them  all  ! 
To  pluck  him  down,  and  keep  him  up. 

Died  many  million  human  souls  ; 
'Tis  twelve  o'clock,  and  time  to  sup. 

Bid  Mary  heap  the  fire  with  coals. 

He  captured  many  thousand  guns  ; 

He  wrote  "  The  Great  "  before  his  name ; 
And  dying,  only  left  his  sons 

The  recollection  of  his  shame. 

*  This  ballad  was  written  at  Paris  at  the  time  of  the  Second  Funeral  of  Napoleoo. 


ABD-EL-KADER  AT  TOULON.  419 

Though  more  than  half  the  world  was  his, 

He  died  without  a  rood  his  own  ; 
And  borrow'd  from  his  enemies 

Six  foot  of  ground  to  lie  upon. 

He  fought  a  thousand  glorious  wars, 

And  more  than  half  the  world  was  his, 
And  somewhere  now,  in  yonder  stars. 

Can  tell,  mayhap,  what  greatness  is. 


1841. 


ABD-EL-KADER  AT  TOULON, 

OR,   THE   CAGED   HAWK. 

No  more,  thou  lithe  and  long-winged  hawk,  of  desert-life  for  thee  ; 
No  more  across  the  sultry  sands  shalt  thou  go  swooping  free  : 
Blunt  idle  talons,  idle  beak,  with  spurning  of  thy  chain, 
Shatter  against  thy  cage  the  wing  thou  ne'er  may'st  spread  again. 

Long,  sitting  by  their  watchfires,  shall  the  Kabyles  tell  the  tale 

Of  thy  dash  from  Ben  Halifa  on  the  fat  Metidja  vale  ; 

How  thou  swept'st  the  desert  over,  bearing  down   the  wild   El 

Riff, 
From  eastern  Beni  Salah  to  western  Ouad  Shelif ; 

How  thy  white  burnous  went  streamiing,  like  the  storm-rack  o'er 

the  sea, 
When  thou  rodest  in  the  vanward  of  the  Moorish  chivalry. 
How  thy  razzia  was  a  whirlwind,  thy  onset  a  simoom,- 
How  thy  sword-sweep  was  the  lightning,  dealing  death  from  out 

the  gloom ! 

Nor  less  quick  to  slay  in  battle  than  in  peace  to  spare  and  save, 
Of  brave  men  wisest  councillor,  of  wise  councillors  most  brave ; 
How  the  eye  that  flashed  destruction  could  beam  gentleness  and 

love, 
How  lion  in  thee  mated  lamb,  how  eagle  mated  dove  ! 

23 


420 


BALLADS. 


Availed  not  or  steel  or  shot  'gainst  that  charmed  life  secure, 
Till  cunning  France,  in  last  resource,  tossed  up  the  golden  lure ; 
And  the  carrion  buzzards  round  him  stooped,  faithless,  to  the  cast, 
And  the  wild  hawk  of  the  desert  is  caught  and  caged  at  last. 

Weep,  maidens  of  Zerifah,  above  the  laden  loom ! 
Scar,  chieftains  of  Al  Elmah,  your  cheeks  in  grief  and  gloom ! 
Sons  of  the  Beni  Snazam,  throw  down  the  useless  lance. 
And  stoop  your  necks  and  bare  your  backs  to  yoke  and  scourge  of 
France ! 

'Twas  not  in  fight  they  bore  him  down  ;  he  never  cried  aman; 
He  never  sank  his  sword  before  the  Prince  of  Franghistan  ; 
But  with  traitors  all  around  him,  his  star  upon  the  wane, 
He  heard  the  voice  of  Allah,  and  he  would  not  strive  in  vain. 

They  gave  him  what  he  asked  them  ;  from  king  to  king  he  spake, 
As  one  that  plighted  word  and  seal  not  knoweth  how  to  break ; 
"  Let  me  pass  from  out  my  deserts,  be't  mine  own  choice  where 

to  go, 
I  brook  no  fettered  life  to  live,  a  captive  and  a  show." 

And  they  promised,  and  he  trusted  them,  and  proud  and   calm  he 

came. 
Upon  his  black  mare  riding,  girt  with  sword  of  fame. 
Good  steed,   good  sword,  he  rendered  both  unto  the    Prankish 

throng  ; 
He  knew  them  false  and  fickle— but  a  Prince's  word  is  strong 

How  have  they  kept  their  promise  ?     Turned  they  the  vessel's 

prow 
Unto  Acre,  Alexandria,  as  they  have  sworn  e'en  now  ? 
Not  so :  from  Oran  northwards  the  white  sails  gleam  and  glance, 
And  the  wild  hawk  of  the  desert  is  borne  away  to  France ! 

Where  Toulon's  white-walled  lazaret  looks  southward  o'er  the 

wave. 
Sits  he  that  trusted  in  the  word  a  son  of  Louis  gave. 
O  noble  faith  of  noble  heart !     And  was  the  warning  vain, 
The  text  writ  by  the  Bourbon  in  the  blurred  black  book  of  Spain  ? 


THE  KING  OF  BRENTFORD'S  TESTAMENT.       421 

They  have  need  of  thee  to  gaze  on,  they  have  need  of  thee  to 

grace 
The  triumph  of  the  Prince,  to  gild  the  pinchbeck  of  their  race. 
Words  are  but  wind,  conditions  must  be  construed  by  Guizot; 
Dash  out  thy  heart,  thou  desert  hawk,  ere  thou  art  made  a  show  I 


THE  KING  OF  BRENTFORD'S  TESTAMENT. 

The  noble  King  of  Brentford 

Was  old  and  very  sick, 
He  summon'd  his  physicians 

To  wait  upon  his  quick ; 
They  stepp'd  into  their  coaches 

And  brought  their  best  physic. 

They  cramm'd  their  gracious  master 

With  potion  and  with  pill ; 
They  drench'd  him  and  they  bled  him  : 

They  could  not  cure  his  ill. 
"  Go  fetch,"  says  he,  "  my  lawyer, 

I'd  better  make  my  will." 

The  monarch's  royal  mandate 

The  lawyer  did  obey  ; 
The  thought  of  six-and-eightpence 

Did  make  his  heart  full  gay. 
"  What  is't,"  says  he,  "  your  Majesty 

Would  wish  of  me  to-day  ?  " 

"  The  doctors  have  belabor'd  me 

With  potion  and  with  pill : 
My  hours  of  life  are  counted, 

0  man  of  tape  and  quill ! 

Sit  down  and  mend  a  pen  or  two, 

1  want  to  make  my  will. 

*'  O'er  all  the  land  of  Brentford 

I'm  lord,  and  eke  of  Kew  : 
I've  three-per-cents  and  five-per-cents ; 

My  debts  are  but  a  few  ; 
And  to  inherit  after  me 

I  have  but  children  two. 


422  BALLADS. 

"  Prince  Thomas  is  my  eldest  son, 

A  sober  prince  is  he, 
And  from  the  day  we  breech'd  him 

Till  now,  he's  twenty-three, 
He  never  caused  disquiet 

To  his  poor  Mamma  or  me. 

"  At  school  they  never  flogg'd  him, 
At  college,  though  not  fast, 

Yet  his  little-go  and  great-go 
He  creditably  pass'd, 

And  make  his  year's  allowance 
For  eighteen  months  to  last. 

"  He  never  owed  a  shilling. 
Went  never  drunk  to  bed, 

He  has  not  two  ideas 
Within  his  honest  head — 

In  all  respects  he  differs 
From  my  second  son,  Prince  Ned. 

"  When  Tom  has  half  his  income 
Laid  by  at  the  year's  end. 

Poor  Ned  has  ne'er  a  stiver. 
That  rightly  he  may  spend, 

But  sponges  on  a  tradesman, 
Or  borrows  from  a  friend. 

"  While  Tom  his  legal  studies 

Most  soberly  pursues. 
Poor  Ned  must  pass  his  mornings 

A-dawdling  with  the  Muse  : 
While  Tom  frequents  his  bankers, 

Young  Ned  frequents  the  Jews. 

*'  Ned  drives  about  in  ouggies, 
Tom  sometimes  takes  a  'bus  ; 

Ah,  cruel  fate,  why  made  you 
My  children  differ  thus  } 

Why  make  of  Tom  a  dullard^ 
And  Ned  3.genhis?  " 


THE  KING  OF  BRENTFORD'S  TESTAMENT.        423 

"You'll  cut  him  with  a  shilling," 

Exclaimed  the  man  of  wits : 
"  I'll  leave  my  wealth,"  said  Brentford, 

"  Sir  Lawyer,  as  befits ; 
And  portion  both  their  fortunes 

Unto  their  several  wits." 


"  Your  Grace  knows  best,"  the  lawyer  said ; 

"On  your  commands  I  wait." 
"Be  silent,  Sir,"  says  Brentford, 

"A  plague  upon  your  prate  ! 
Come  take  your  pen  and  paper, 

And  write  as  I  dictate." 

The  will  as  Brentford  spoke  it 
Was  writ  and  signed  and  closed  ; 

He  bade  the  lawyer  leave  him, 
And  torn'd  him  round  and  dozed ; 

And  next  week  in  the  churchyard 
The  good  old  King  reposed. 

Tom,  dressed  in  crape  and  hatband, 

Of  mourners  was  the  chief  ; 
In  bitter  self-upbraidings 

Poor  Edward  showed  his  grief : 
Tom  hid  his  fat  white  countenance 

In  his  pocket-handkerchief. 

Ned's  eyes  were  full  of  weeping, 

He  falter'd  in  his  walk  ; 
Tom  never  shed  a  tear, 

But  onward  he  did  stalk, 
As  pompous,  black,  and  solemn, 

As  any  catafalque. 

And  when  the  bones  of  Brentford- 

That  gentle  king  and  just — 
With  bell  and  book  and  candle 

Were  duly  laid  in  dust, 
"  Now,  gentlemen,"  says  Thomas, 

"  Let  business  he  discussed. 


♦24  -  BALLADS. 

"When  late  our  sire  beloved 

Was  taken  deadly  ill, 
Sir  Lawyer,  you  attended  him 

(I  mean  to  tax  your  bill) ; 
And,  as  you  signed  and  wrote  it, 

I  prithee  read  the  will." 

The  lawyer  wiped  his  spectacles. 
And  drew  the  parchment  out : 

And  all  the  Brentford  family 
Sat  eager  round  about : 

Poor  Ned  was  somewhat  anxious. 
But  Tom  had  ne'er  a  doubt. 

"  My  son,  as  I  make  ready 
To  seek  my  last  long  home. 

Some  cares  I  had  for  Neddy, 
But  none  for  thee,  my  Tom : 

Sobriety  and  order 

You  ne'er  departed  from. 

"  Ned  hath  a  brilliant  genius, 
And  thou  a  plodding  brain ; 

On  thee  I  think  with  pleasure, 
On  him  with  doubt  and  pain." 

("  You  see,  good  Ned,"  says  Thomas, 
"  What  he  thought  about  us  twain.") 

"  Though  small  was  your  allowance, 

You  saved  a  little  store  ; 
And  those  who  save  a  little 

Shall  get  a  plenty  more." 
As  the  lawyer  read  this  compliment, 

Tom's  eyes  were  running  o'er. 

"  The  tortoise  and  the  hare,  Tom, 
Set  out,  at  each  his  pace ; 

The  hare  it  was  the  fleeter. 
The  tortoise  won  the  race  ; 

And  since  the  world's  beginning 
This  ever  was  the  case. 


THE  KING  OF  BRENTFORD'S  TESTAMENT.        425 

"  Ned's  genius,  blithe  and  singing, 

Steps  gayly  o'er  the  ground  j 
As  steadily  you  trudge  it 

He  clears  it  with  a  bound  ; 
But  dulness  has  stout  legs,  Tom, 

And  wind  that's  wondrous  sound. 


"O'er  fruits  and  flowers  alike,  Tom, 
You  pass  with  plodding  feet ; 

You  heed  not  one  nor  t'other 
But  onwards  go  your  beat, 

While  genius  stops  to  loiter 
With  all  that  he  may  meet ; 

**  And  ever  as  he  wanders, 

Will  have  a  pretext  fine 
For  sleeping  in  the  morning, 

Or  loitering  to  dine. 
Or  dozing  in  the  shade. 

Or  basking  in  the  shine. 

»*  Your  little  steady  eyes,  Tom, 
Though  not  so  bright  as  those 

That  restless  round  about  him 
His  flashing  genius  throws, 

Are  excellently  suited 
To  look  before  your  nose. 

♦'  Thank  heaven,  then,  for  the  blinkers 
It  placed  before  your  eyes  ; 

The  stupidest  are  weakest, 
The  witty  are  not  wise  ; 

Oh,  bless  your  good  stupidity, 
It  is  your  dearest  prize  ! 

"  And  though  my  lands  are  wide, 

And  plenty  is  my  gold, 
Still  better  gifts  from  Nature, 

My  Thomas,  do  you  hold — 
A  brain  that's  thick  and  heavy, 

A  heart  that's  dull  and  cold. 


426  BALLADS, 

"  Too  dull  to  feel  depression, 
Too  hard  to  heed  distress, 

Too  cold  to  yield  to  passion 
Or  silly  tenderness. 

March  on — your  road  is  open 
To  wealth,  Tom,  and  success. 

"  Ned  sinneth  in  extravagance. 
And  you  in  greedy  lust." 

("  r  faith,"  says  Ned,  "our  father 
Is  less  polite  than  just.") 

"In  you,  son  Tom,  I've  confidence, 
But  Ned  I  cannot  trust. 

"  Wherefore  my  lease  and  copyholds, 
My  lands  and  tenements. 

My  parks,  my  farms,  and  orchards, 
My  houses  and  my  rents, 

My  Dutch  stock  and  my  Spanish  stock. 
My  five  and  three  per  cents, 

"  I  leave  to  you,  my  Thomas  " — 
("  What,  all .? "  poor  Edward  said. 

"  Well,  well,  I  should  have  spent  them. 
And  Tom's  a  prudent  head  ") — 

"  I  leave  to  you,  my  Thomas, — 
To  you  IN  TRUST  for  Ned." 

The  wrath  and  consternation 
What  poet  e'er  could  trace 

That  at  this  fatal  passage 

Come  o'er  Prince  Tom  his  face  ; 

The  wonder  of  the  company, 
And  honest  Ned's  amaze  ! 

"  'Tis  surely  some  mistake," 
Good-naturedly  cries  Ned  ; 

The  lawyer  answered  gravely, 
"'Tis  even  as  I  said  ; 

'Twas  thus  his  glorious  Majesty 
Ordained  on  his  death-bed. 


THE  KING  OF  BRENTFORD'S  TESTAMENT. 

"  See,  here  the  will  is  witness'd, 

And  here's  his  autograph." 
"  In  truth,  our  father's  writing," 

Says  Edward,  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  But  thou  shalt  not  be  a  loser,  Tom, 

We'll  share  it  half  and  half." 

"  Alas  !  my  kind  young  gentleman. 

This  sharing  cannot  be  ; 
'TIS  written  in  the  testament 

That  Brentford  spoke  to  me, 
*  I  do  forbid  Prince  Ned  to  give 

Prince  Tom  a  halfpenny, 

" '  He  hath  a  store  of  money, 
But  ne'er  was  known  to  lend  it ; 

He  never  help'd  his  brother; 
The  poor  he  ne'er  befriended; 

He  hath  no  need  of  property 

Who  knows  not  how  to  spend  it. 

*' '  Poor  Edward  knows  but  how  to  spend. 

And  thrifty  Tom  to  hoard  ; 
Let  Thomas  be  the  steward  then, 

And  Edward  be  the  lord  ; 
And  as  the  honest  laborer 

Is  worthy  his  reward, 

*' '  I  pray  Prince  Ned,  my  second  son. 

And  my  successor  dear. 
To  pay  to  his  intendant 

Five  hundred  pounds  a  year; 
And  to  think  of  his  old  father, 

And  live  and  make  good  cheer.' " 

Such  was  old  Brentford's  honest  treatment. 
He  did  devise  his  moneys  for  the  best, 
And  lies  in  Brentford  church  in  peaceful  rest 

Prince  Edward  lived,  and  money  made  and  spent; 
But  his  good  sire  was  wrong,  it  is  confess'd, 

To  say  his  son,  young  Thomas,  never  lent. 
He  did.     Young  Thomas  lent  at  interest, 

And  nobly  took  his  twenty-five  per  cent. 
23* 


427 


42S  BALLADS. 

Long-  tfme  the  famous  reign  csf  Ned  endnred 
O'er  Chiswick,  Folham,  Brentford,  Putney,  Kem 
But  of  extravagance  he  ne'er  was  cured. 

And  when,  both  died,  as  mortal  men  will  do^ 
'Twas  commoaly  rejxjrted  that  the  steward 

Was  very  much  the  richer  of  the  two. 


THE   WHITE  SQUALL. 

On  deck,  beneath  the  awnings 
1  dozing  lay  and  yawning ; 
It  was  the  gray  of  dawning. 

Ere  yet  the  sun  arose ; 
And  above  the  funnel's  roaring. 
And  the  fitful  wind's  deploring, 
1  heard  the  cabin  snoring 

With  universal  nose. 
1  could  hear  the  passengers  snorting— 
I  envied  their  disporting — 
Vainly  I  was  courting 

The  pleasure  of  a  doze  ! 

So  I  lay,  and  wondered  why  light 
Came  not,  and  watched  the  twilight. 
And  the  glimmer  of  the  skylight. 

That  shot  across  the  deck ; 
And  the  binnacle  pale  and  steady, 
And  the  dull  glimpse  of  the  dead-eye. 
And  the  sparks  in  fiery  eddy 

That  whirled  from  the  chnnney  neck 
In  our  jovial  floating  prison 
There  was  sleep  from  fore  to  mizzen, 
And  never  a  star  had  risen 

The  hazy  sky  to  speck. 

Strange  company  we  harbored  ; 
We'd  a  hundred  Jews  to  larboard. 
Unwashed,  uncombed,  unbarbered — 
Jews  black,  and  brown,  and  gray ; 


THE    WHITE  SQUALL.  429 

With  terror  it  would  seize  ye, 
And  make  your  souls  uneasy, 
To  see  those  Rabbis  greasy, 

Who  did  nought  but  scratch  and  pray: 
Their  dirty  children  puking — 
Their  dirty  saucepans  cooking — • 
Their  dirty  fingers  hooking 

Their  swarming  fleas  away. 

To  starboard,  Turks  and  Greeks  were— 
Whiskered  and  brown  their  cheeks  were— 
Enormous  wide  their  breeks  were — • 

Their  pipes  did  puff  away  ; 
Each  on  his  mat  allotted 
In  silence  smoked  and  squatted, 
Whilst  round  their  children  trotted 

In  pretty,  pleasant  play. 
He  can't  but  smile  who  traces 
The  smiles  on  those  brown  faces, 
And  the  pretty  prattling  graces 

Of  those  small  heathens  gay. 

And  so  the  hours  kept  tolling, 
And  through  the  ocean  rolling 
Went  the  brave  "  Iberia  "  bowling 
Before  the  break  of  day 

When  A  SQUALL,  upon  a  sudden, 
Came  o'er  the  waters  scudding ; 
And  the  clouds  began  to  gather. 
And  the  sea  was  lashed  to  lather. 

And  the  lowering  thunder  grumbled. 
And  the  lightning  jumped  and  tumbled 
And  the  ship,  and  all  the  ocean, 
Woke  up  in  wild  commotion. 
Then  the  wind  set  up  a  howling. 
And  the  poodle  dog  a  yowling. 
And  the  cocks  began  a  crowing, 
And  the  old  cow  raised  a  lowing, 
As  she  heard  the  tempest  blowing; 
And  fowls  and  geese  did  cackle, 
And  the  cordage  and  the  tackle 
Began  to  shriek  and  crackle  j 


430 


BALLADS. 

And  the  spray  dashed  o'er  the  funnels 

And  down  the  deck  in  runnels  ; 

And  the  rushing  water  soaks  all, 

From  the  seamen  in  the  fo'ksal 

To  the  stokers  whose  black  faces 

Peer  out  of  their  bed-places  ; 

And  the  captain  he  was  bawling, 

And  the  sailors  pulling,  hauling. 

And  the  quarter-deck  tarpauling 

Was  shivered  in  the  squalling ; 

And  the  passengers  awaken, 

Most  pitifully  shaken ; 

And  the  steward  jumps  up,  and  hastens 

For  the  necessary  basins. 

Then  the  Greeks  they  groaned  and  quivered 
And  they  knelt,  and  moaned,  and  shivered, 
As  the  plunging  waters  met  them, 
And  splashed  and  overset  them; 
And  they  call  in  their  emergence 
Upon  countless  saints  and  virgins; 
And  their  marrowbones  are  bended, 
And  they  think  the  world  is  ended. 

And  the  Turkish  women  for'ard 
Were  frightened  and  behorror'd  ; 
And  shrieking  and  bewildering, 
The  mothers  clutched  their  children  ; 
The  men  sung  "Allah  !  lUah 
Mashallah  Bismillah  ! " 
As  the  warring  waters  doused  them 
And  splashed  them  and  soused  them. 
And  they  called  upon  the  Prophet, 
And  thought  but  little  of  it. 

Then  all  the  fleas  in  Jewry 

Jumped  up  and  bit  like  fury  ; 

And  the  progeny  of  Jacob 

Did  on  the  main-deck  wake  up 

(I  wot  those  greasy  Rabbins 

Would  never  pay  for  cabins)  ; 

And  each  man  moaned  and  jabbered  in 

His  filthy  Jewish  gaberdine, 


THE  WHITE  SQUALL.  43, 

In  woe  and  lamentation, 

And  howlinof  consternation. 

And  the  splasiiing  water  drenches 

T^eir  dirty  brats  and  wenches  ; 

And  they  crawl  from  bales  and  benches 

In  a  hundred  thousand  stenches. 

This  was  the  White  Squall  famous, 

Which  latterly  o'ercame  us. 

And  which  all  will  well  remember 

On  the  28th  September  ; 

When  a  Prussian  captain  of  Lancers 

(Those  tight-laced,  whiskered  prancers) 

Came  on  the  deck  astonished, 

By  that  wild  squall  admonished, 

And  wondering  cried,  "  Potztausend, 

Wie  ist  der  Stiirm  jetzt  brausendj" 

And  looked  at  Captain  Lewis, 

Who  calmly  stood  and  blew  his 

Cigar  in  all  the  bustle, 

And  scorned  the  tempest's  tussle, 

And  oft  we've  thought  thereafter 

How  he  beat  the  storm  to  laughter; 

For  well  he  knew  his  vessel 

With  that  vain  wind  could  wrestle ; 

And  when  a  wreck  we  thought  her. 

And  doomed  ourselves  to  slaughter, 

How  gayly  he  fought  her, 

And  through  the  hubbub  brought  her. 

And  as  the  tempest  caught  her, 

Cried,  "George!  some  brand  y-and-water  I" 

And  when,  its  force  expended. 
The  harmless  storm  was  ended, 
And  as  the  sunrise  splendid 

Came  blushing  o'er  the  sea; 
I  thought,  as  day  was  breaking, 
My  little  girls  were  waking, 
And  smiling,  and  making 

A  prayer  at  home  for  me. 


432  BALLADS. 


PEG  OF  LIMAVADDW 

Riding  from  Coleraine 

(Famed  for  lovely  Kitty), 
Came  a  Cockney  bound 

Unto  Derry  city ; 
Weary  was  his  soul, 

Shivering  and  sad,  he 
Bumped  along  the  road 

Leads  to  Limavaddy. 

Mountains  stretch'd  around, 

Gloomy  was  their  tinting, 
And  the  horse's  hoof^ 

Made  a  dismal  dinting; 
Wind  upon  the  heath 

Howling  was  and  piping, 
On  the  heath  and  bog, 

Black  with  many  a  snipe  in 
'Mid  the  bogs  of  black, 

Silver  pools  were  flashing, 
Crows  upon  their  sides 

Picking  were  and  splashing. 
Cockney  on  the  car 

Closer  folds  his  plaidy. 
Grumbling  at  the  road  ' 
Leads  to  Limavaddy. 

Through  the  crashing  woods 

Autumn  brawl'd  and  bluster'd. 
Tossing  round  about 

Leaves  the  hue  of  mustard ; 
Yonder  lay  Lough  Foyle, 

Which  a  storm  was  whipping, 
Covering  with  mist 

Lake,  and  shores  and  shipping. 
Up  and  down  the  hill 

(Nothing  could  be  bolder), 
Horse  went  with  a  raw 
Bleeding  on  his  shoulder. 


PEC  OF  LIMA  VADDY. 

**  Were  are  horses  changed  ?  " 

Said  I  to  the  laddy 
Driving  on  the  box  : 

"  Sir,  at  Liraavaddy,'* 

Limavaddy  inn's 

But  a  humble  bait-house, 
Where  you  may  procure 

Whiskey  and  potatoes ; 
Landlord  at  the  door 

Gives  a  smiling  welcome — ' 
To  the  shivering  wights 

Wlio  to  his  hotel  come. 
Landlady  within 

Sits  and  knits  a  stockings 
With  a  wary  foot 

Baby's  cradle  rocking. 
To  the  chimney  nook 

Having  found  admittance, 
There  I  watch  a  pup 

Playing  with  two  kittens ; 

(Playing  round  the  fire, 

Which  of  blazing  turf  is, 
Roaring  to  the  pot 

Which  bubbles  with  the  murphies.) 
And  the  cradled  babe 

Fond  the  mother  nursed  it, 
Singing  it  a  song 

As  she  twists  the  worsted  I 

Up  and  down  the  stair 

Two  more  young  ones  patter 
(Twins  were  never  seen 

Dirtier  nor  fatter). 
Both  have  mottled  legs. 

Both  have  snubby  noses, 
Both  have Here  the  host 

Kindly  interposes : 
"  Sure  you  must  be  froze 

With  the  sleet  and  hail,  sir : 
So  will  you  have  some  punch, 

Or  will  you  have  some  ale,  sir?** 


433 


434  BALLADS. 


Presently  a  maid 

Enters  with  the  liquor 
(Half  a  pint  of  ale 

Frothing  in  a  beaker). 
Gads  !   I  didn't  know 

What  my  beating  heart  meant  \ 
Hebe's  self  I  thought 

Entered  the  apartment. 
As  she  came  she  smiled, 

And  the  smile  bewitching, 
On  my  word  and  honor, 

Lighted  all  the  kitchen ! 

With  a  curtsey  neat 

Greeting  the  new  comer. 
Lovely,  smiling  Peg 

Offers  me  the  rummer ; 
But  my  trembling  hand 

Up  the  beaker  tilted. 
And  the  glass  of  ale 

Every  drop  I  spilt  it : 
Spilt  it  every  drop 

(Dames,  who  read  my  volumes. 
Pardon  such  a  word) 

On  my  what-d'ye-call-'ems ! 

Witnessing  the  sight 

Of  that  dire  disaster, 
Out  began  to  laugh 

Missis,  maid,  and  master; 
Such  a  merry  peal 

'Specially  Miss  Peg's  was, 
(As  the  glass  of  ale 

Trickling  down  my  legs  was,) 
That  the  joyful  sound 

Of  that  mingling  laughter 
Echoed  in  my  ears 

Many  a  long  day  after. 

Such  a  silver  peal ! 

In  the  meadows  listenings 
You  who've  heard  the  bells 

Ringing  to  a  christening ; 


PEG  OF  UMAVADDY.  435 

You  who  ever  heard 

Caradori  pretty, 
Smiling  like  an  angel, 

Singing  "  Giovinetti ;  " 
Fancy  Peggy's  laugh, 

Sweet,  and  clear,  and  cheerful, 
At  my  pantaloons 

With  half  a  pint  of  beer  full ! 

When  the  laugh  was  done, 

Peg,  the  pretty  hussy, 
Moved  about  the  room 

Wonderfully  busy ; 
Now  she  looks  to  see 

If  the  kettle  keep  hot ; 
Now  she  rubs  the  spoons, 

Now  she  cleans  the  teapot ; 
Now  she  sets  the  cups 

Trimly  and  secure : 
Now  she  scours  a  pot, 

And  so  it  was  I  drew  her. 

Thus  it  was  I  drew  her 

Scouring  of  a  kettle, 
(Faith  !  her  blushing  cheeks 

Redden'd  on  the  metal !) 
Ah  !  but  'tis  in  vain 

That  I  try  to  sketch  it ; 
The  pot  perhaps  is  like, 

But  Peggy's  face  is  wretched. 
No  !  the  best  of  lead 

And  of  indian-rubber 
Never  could  depict 

That  sweet  kettle-scrubber! 

See  her  as  she  moves 

Scarce  the  ground  she  touches, 
Airy  as  a  fay, 

Graceful  as  a  duchess ; 
Bare  her  rounded  arm, 

Bare  her  little  leg  is, 
Vestris  never  show'd 

Ankles  like  to  Peggy's. 


436  BALLADS. 

Braided  is  her  hair, 

Soft  her  Icok  and  modest. 

Slim  her  little  waist 
Comfortably  bodiced. 

This  I  do  declare, 

Happy  is  the  laddy 
Who  the  heart  can  share 

Of  Peg  of  Limavaddy, 
Married  if  she  were 

Blest  would  be  the  daddy 
Of  the  children  fair 

Of  Peg  of  Limavaddy. 
Beauty  is  not  rare 

In  the  land  of  Paddy, 
Fair  beyond  compare 

Is  Peg  of  Limavaddy. 

Citizen  or  Squire, 

Tory,  Whig,  or  Radi- 
cal would  all  desire 

Peg  of  Limavaddy. 
Had  I  Homer's  fire, 

Or  that  of  Serjeant  Taddy, 
Meetly  I'd  admire 

Peg  of  Limavaddy. 
And  till  I  expire. 

Or  till  I  grow  mad,  I 
Will  sing  unto  my  lyre 

Peg  of  Limavaddy ! 


MA  YD  A  Y  ODE. 

But  yesterday  a  naked  sod 
The  dandies  sneered  from  Rotten  Row, 
And  cantered  o'er  it  to  and  fro  : 

And  see  'tis  done  ! 
As  though  'twere  by  a  wizard's  rod 
A  blazing  arch  of  lucid  glass 
Leaps  like  a  fountain  from  the  grass 
To  meet  the  sun ! 


A/A  Y-DA  y  ODE. 

A.  quiet  green  but  few  days  since, 
With  cattle  browsing  in  tlie  shade : 
And  here  are  lines  of  bright  arcade 
In  order  raised ! 
A  palace  as  for  fairy  Prince, 
A  rare  pavilion,  such  as  man 
Saw  never  since  mankind  began, 

And  built  and  glazed ! 

A  peaceful  place  it  was  but  now, 
And  lo !  within  its  shining  streets 
A  multitude  of  nations  meets  ; 

A  countless  throng 
I  see  beneath  the  crystal  bow, 

And  Gaul  and  German,  Russ  and  Turk, 
Each  with  his  native  handiwork 

And  busy  tongue; 

I  felt  a  thrill  of  love  and  awe 
To  mark  the  different  garb  of  each, 
The  changing  tongue,  the  various  speech 
Together  blent : 
A  thrill,  methinks,  like  His  who  saw 
"All  people  dwelling  upon  earth 
Praising  our  God  with  solemn  mirth 

And  one  consent." 

High  Sovereign,  in  your  Royal  state. 
Captains,  and  chiefs,  and  councillors. 
Before  the  lofty  palace  doors 

Are  open  set, — 
Hush  !  ere  you  pass  the  shining  gate  ; 
Hush!  ere  the  heaving  curtain  draws, 
And  let  the  Royal  pageant  pause 
A  moment  yet. 

People  and  prince  a  silence  keep  ! 
Bow  coronet  and  kingly  crown. 
Helmet  and  plume,  bow  lowly  down. 

The  while  the  priest. 
Before  the  splendid  portal  step, 

(While  still  the  wondrous  banquet  stays,) 
From  Heaven  supreme  a  blessing  prays 
Upon  the  feast. 


437 


43^  BALLADS. 

Then  onwards  let  the  triumph  march  j 
Then  let  the  loud  artillery  roll, 
And  trumpets  ring,  and  joy-bells  toll, 
And  pass  the  gate. 
Pass  underneath  the  shining  arch, 
'Neath  which  the  leafy  elms  are  green ; 
Ascend  unto  your  throne,  O  Queen  ! 

And  take  your  state. 

Behold  her  in  her  Royal  Place  ; 
A  gentle  lady ;  and  the  hand 
That  sways  the  sceptre  of  this  land, 

How  frail  and  weak ! 
Soft  is  the  voice,  and  fai»  the  face  : 

She  breathes  amen  to  prayer  and  hymn  ; 
No  wonder  that  her  eyes  are  dim, 

And  pale  her  cheek. 

This  moment  round  her  empire's  shores 
The  winds  of  Austral  winter  sweep, 
And  thousands  lie  in  midnight  sleep 
At  rest  to-day. 
Oh  !  awful  is  that  crown  of  yours, 
Queen  of  innumerable  realms 
Sitting  beneath  the  budding  elms 

Of  EngHsh  May! 

A  wondrous  sceptre  'tis  to  bear  : 
Strange  mystery  of  God  which  set 
Upon  her  brow  yon  coronet, — 

The  foremost  crown 
Cf  all  the  world,  on  one  so  fair! 
That  chose  her  to  it  from  her  birth. 
And  bade  the  sons  of  all  the  earth 

To  her  bow  down. 

The  representatives  of  man 
Here  from  the  far  Antipodes, 
And  from  the  subject  Indian  seas. 

In  Congress  meet ; 
From  Afric  and  from  Hindustan, 
From  Western  continent  and  isle, 
The  envoys  of  her  empire  pile 

Gifts  at  her  feet ; 


AfA  Y-DA  Y  ODE.  439 

Our  brethren  cross  the  Atlantic  tides, 
Loading  the  gallant  decks  which  once 
Roared  a  defiance  to  our  guns, 

With  peaceful  stora^ 
Symbol  of  peace,  their  vessel  rides  !  * 
O'er  English  waves  float  Star  and  Stripe, 
And  firm  their  friendly  anchors  gripe 
The  father  shore ! 

From  Rhine  and  Danube,  Rhone  and  Seine, 
As  rivers  from  their  sources  gush, 
The  swelling  floods  of  nations  rush, 

And  seaward  pour: 
From  coast  to  coast  in  friendly  chain, 

With  countless  ships  we  bridge  the  straits, 
And  angry  pcean  separates 

Europe  no  more. 

From  Mississippi  and  from  Nile — 
From  Baltic,  Ganges,  Bosphorus, 
In  England's  ark  assembled  thus 

Are  friend  and  guest 
Look  down  the  mighty  sunlit  aisle. 
And  see  the  sumptuous  banquet  set. 
The  brotherhood  of  nations  met 

Around  the  feast ! 

Along  the  dazzling  colonnade, 

Far  as  the  straining  eye  can  gaze, 
Gleam  cross  and  fountain,  bell  and  vase, 
In  vistas  bright ; 
And  statues  fair  of  nymph  and  maid. 
And  steeds  and  pards  and  Amazons, 
Writhing  and  grappling  in  the  bronze, 
In  endless  fight. 

To  deck  the  glorious  roof  and  dome, 
To  make  the  Queen  a  canopy, 
The  peaceful  hosts  of  industry 

Their  standards  bear.  . 
Yon  are  the  works  of  Brahmin  loom ; 
On  such  a  web  of  Persian  thread 
The  desert  Arab  bows  his  head 

And  cries  his  prayer. 

*  The  U.  S.  frigate  "  St.  Lawrence." 


440  BALLADS, 

Look  yonder  where  the  engines  toil : 
These  England's  arms  of  conquest  are, 
The  trophies  of  her  bloodless  war: 

Brave  weapons  these. 
Victorious  over  wave  and  soil, 

With  these  she  sails,  she  weaves,  she  tills, 
Pierces  the  everlasting  hills 

And  spans  the  seas. 

The  engine  roars  upon  its  race, 
The  shuttle  whirrs  along  the  woof, 
The  people  hum  from  floor  to  roof, 

With  Babel  tongue. 
The  fountain  in  the  basin  plays, 
The  chanting  organ  echoes  clear, 
An  awful  chorus  'tis  to  hear, 

A  wondrous  song ! 

Swell,  organ,  swell  your  trumpet  blast, 
March,  Queen  and  Royal  pageant,  march 
By  splendid  aisle  and  springing  arch 
Of  this  fair  Hall: 
And  see  !  above  the  fabric  vast, 

God's  boundless  Heaven  is  bending  blue, 
God's  peaceful  sunlight's  beaming  through, 
And  shines  o'er  all. 

May,  1851. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  BOUILLABALSSE. 

A  STREET  there  is  in  Paris  famous, 

For  which  no  rhyme  our  language  yields. 
Rue  Neuve  des  Petits  Champs  its  name  is — 

The  New  Street  of  the  Little  Fields. 
And  here's  an  inn,  not  rich  and  splendid, 

But  still  in  comfortable  ca,se  ; 
The  which  in  youth  I  oft  attended, 

To  eat  a  bowl  of  Bouillabaisse. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  BOUILLABAISSE.  44^ 

This  Bouillabaisse  a  noble  dish  is — 

A  sort  of  soup  or  broth,  or  brew, 
Or  hotchpotch  of  all  sorts  of  fishes, 

That  Greenwich  never  could  outdo  ; 
Green  herbs,  red  peppers,  mussels,  saffron. 

Soles,  onions,  garlic,  roach,  and  dace : 
All  these  you  eat  at  Terre's  tavern, 

In  that  one  dish  of  Bouillabaisse. 

Indeed,  a  rich  and  savory  stew  'tis  ; 

And  true  philosophers,  methinks, 
Who  love  all  sorts  of  natural  beauties, 

Should  love  good  victuals  and  good  drinks. 
And  Cordelier  or  Benedictine 

Might,  gladly,  sure,  his  lot  embrace, 
Nor  find  a  fast-day  too  afflicting, 

Which  served  him  up  a  Bouillabaisse. 

I  wonder  if  the  house  still  there  is  ? 

Yes,  here  the  lamp  is,  as  before  ; 
The  smiling  red-cheeked  ecaill&re  is 

Still  opening  oysters  at  the  door. 
Is  Terre  still  alive  and  able  ? 

I  recollect  his  droll  grimace  : 
He'd  come  and  smile  before  your  table, 

And  hope  you  liked  your  Bouillabaisse. 

We  enter — nothing's  changed  or  older. 

"  How's  Monsieur  Teree,  waiter,  pray  ?  '* 
The  waiter  stares  and  shrugs  his  shoulder— 
"  Monsieur  is  dead  this  many  a  day." 
•  It  is  the  lot  of  saint  and  sinner. 

So  honest  Terre's  run  his  race." 
"What  will  Monsieur  require  for  dinner?" 
"  Say,  do  you  still  cook  Bouillabaisse  ?  " 

"  Oh,  oui.  Monsieur,"  's  the  waiter's  answer ; 

"  Quel  vin  Monsieur  desire-t-il  ?  " 
"Tell  me  a  good  one." — "  That  I  can.  Sir; 

The  Chambertin  with  yellow  seal." 
"  So  Terre's  gone,"  I  say,  and  sink  in 

My  old  accustom'd  corner-place  ; 
"  He's  done  with  feasting  and  with  drinking, 

With  Burgundy  and  Bouillabaisse." 


442  BALLADS. 

My  old  accustom'd  corner  here  li.. 

The  table  still  is  in  the  nook; 
Ah!  vanish'd  many  a  busy  year  is 

This  well-known  chair  since  last  I  took. 
When  first  I  saw  ye,  car{  luogJii, 

I'd  scarce  a  beard  upon  my  face, 
And  now  a  grizzled,  grim  old  fogy, 

I  sit  and  wait  for  Bouillabaisse. 

Where  are  you,  old  companions  trusty 

Of  early  days  here  met  to  dine  ? 
Come,  waiter  !  quick,  a  flagon  crusty — 

I'll  pledge  them  in  the  good  old  wine. 
The  kind  old  voices  and  old  faces 

My  memory  can  quick  retrace  ; 
Around  the  board  they  take  their  places, 

And  share  the  wine  and  Bouillabaisse. 

There's  Jack  has  made  a  wondrous  marriage  > 

There's  laughing  Tom  is  laughing  yet ; 
There's  brave  Augustus  drives  his  carriage; 

There's  poor  old  Fred  in  the  Gazette ; 
On  James's  head  the  grass  is  growing : 

Good  Lord  !  the  world  has  wagged  apace 
Since  here  we  set  the  Claret  flowing. 

And  drank,  and  ate  the  Bouillabaisse. 
Ah  me  !  how  quick  the  days  are  flitting  1 

I  mind  me  of  a  time  that's  gone, 
When  here  I'd  sit,  as  now  I'm  sitting, 

In  this  same  place — but  not  alone. 
A  fair  young  form  was  nestled  near  me, 

A  dear,  dear  face  looked  fondly  up 
And  sweetly  spoke  and  smiled  to  cheer  me 

— There's  no  one  now  to  share  my  cup. 
*  *  *  # 

I  drink  it  as  the  Fates  ordain  it. 

Come,  fill  it,  and  have  done  with  rhymes: 
Fill  up  the  lonely  glass,  and  drain  it 

In  memory  of  dear  old  times. 
Welcome  the  wine,  whate'er  the  seal  is; 

And  sit  j^ou  down  and  say  your  grace 
With  thankful  heart,  whate'er  the  meal  is. 

— Here  comes  the  smoking  Bouillabaisse  ! 


THE  MAHOGANY  TREE.  443 


THE  MAHOGANY  TREE. 

Christmas  is  here : 
Winds  whistle  shrilL 
Icy  and  chill, 
Little  care  we : 
Little  we  fear 
Weather  without, 
Sheltered  about 
The  Mahogany  Tree. 

Once  on  the  boughs 
Birds  of  rare  plume 
Sang,  in  its  bloom  ; 
Night-birds  are  we : 
Here  we  carouse, 
Singing  like  them, 
Perched  round  the  stem 
Of  the  jolly  old  tree. 

Here  let  us  sport, 
Boys,  as  we  sit ; 
Laughter  and  wit 
Flashing  so  free. 
Life  is  but  short — 
When  we  are  gone, 
Let  them  sing  on, 
Round  the  old  tree. 

Evenings  we  knew, 
Happy  as  this ; 
Faces  we  miss. 
Pleasant  to  see. 
Kind  hearts  and  true, 
Gentle  and  just, 
Peace  to  your  dust 
We  sing  round  the  tree. 
24 


444  BALLADS. 

Care,  like  a  dun, 
Lurks  at  the  gate: 
Let  the  dog  wait ; 
Happy  we'll  be ! 
Drink,  every  one ; 
Pile  up  the  coals, 
Fill  the  red  bowls, 
Round  the  old  tree  f 

Drain  we  the  cup,— 
Friend,  art  afraid  ? 
Spirits  are  laid 
In  the  Red  Sea. 
Mantle  it  up ; 
Empty  it  yet ; 
Let  us  forget. 
Round  the  old  tree. 

Sorrow,  begone ! 
Life  and  its  ills, 
Duns  and  their  bills, 
Bid  we  to  flee. 
Come  with  the  dawn. 
Blue-devil  sprite, 
Leave  us  to-night, 
Round  the  old  tree. 


THE   YANKEE    VOLUNTEERS. 

**  A  snrgeon  of  the  United  States'  army  says,  that  on  inquiring  of  the  Captain  of  hit 
•empany,  he  found  x\\iA,nine-ienths  of  the  men  had  enlisted  on  account  of  some  femal* 
difficulty." — Morning  Paper. 

Ye  Yankee  volunteers ! 
It  makes  my  bosom  bleed 
When  I  your  story  read. 

Though  oft  'tis  told  one 
So — in  both  hemispheres 
The  women  are  untrue. 
And  cruel  in  the  New, 

As  in  the  Old  one  I 


THE  YANKEE  VOLUNTEERS,  4^5 

What — in  this  company 

Of  sixty  sons  of  Mars, 

Who  march  'neath  Stripes  and  Stars, 

With  fife  and  horn, 
Nine-tenths  of  all  we  see 
Along  the  warlike  line 
Had  but  one  cause  to  join 

This  Hope  Forlorn? 

Deserters  from  ^he  realm 
Where  tyrant  Venus  reigns, 
You  slipp'd  her  wicked  chains, 

Fled  and  out-ran  her. 
And  now,  with  sword  and  helm, 
Together  banded  are 
Beneath  the  Stripe  and  Star- 

Embroider'd  banner ! 

And  is  it  so  with  all 

The  warriors  ranged  in  line, 

With  lace  bedizen'd  fine 

And  swords  gold-hilted — 

Yon  lusty  corporal. 

Yon  color-man  who  gripes 

The  flag  of  Stars  and  Stripes- 
Has  each  been  jilted  ? 

Come,  each  man  of  this  line, 
The  privates  strong  and  tall, 
"  The  pioneers  and  all," 

The  fifer  nimble — 
Lieutenant  and  Ensign, 
Captain  with  epaulets, 
And  Blacky  there,  who  beats 

The  clanging  cymbal— 

O  cymbal-beating  black, 
Tell  us,  as  thou  canst  feel. 
Was  it  some  Lucy  Neal 

Who  caused  thy  ruin  ? 
O  nimble  fifing  Jack, 
And  drummer  making  din 
So  deftly  on  the  skin, 

With  thy  rat-tattooing— 


440  BALLADS. 

Confess,  ye  volunteers, 
Lieutenant  and  Ensign, 
And  Captain  of  the  line, 

As  bold  as  Roman — 
Confess,  ye  grenadiers, 
However  strong  and  tall, 
The  Conqueror  of  you  all 

Is  Woman,  Woman ! 

No  corselet  is  so  proof 
But  through  it  from  her  bow 
The  shafts  that  she  can  throw 

Will  pierce  and  rankle. 
No  champion  e'er  so  tough, 
But's  in  the  struggle  thrown, 
And  tripped  and  trodden  down 

By  her  slim  ankle. 

Thus  always  it  was  ruled  : 
And  when  a  woman  smiled, 
The  strong  man  was  a  child, 

The  sage  a  noodle. 
Alcides  was  befool'd. 
And  silly  Samson  shorn, 
Long,  long  ere  you  were  born, 

Poor  Yankee  Doodle ! 


THE  PEN  AND    THE  ALBUM. 

"I  AM  Miss  Catherine's  book,"  the  Album  speaks; 
*'  I've  laid  among  your  tomes  these  many  weeks; 
I'm  tired  of  their  old  coats  and  yellow  cheeks 

"Quick,  Pen  !  and  write  a  line  with  a  good  grace: 
Come  !  draw  me  off  a  funny  little  face ; 
And,  prithee,  send  me  back  to  Chesham  Place." 

PEN. 

«  I  am  my  master's  faithful  old  Gold  Pen ; 
I've  served  him  three  long  years,  and  drawn  since  then 
Thousands  of  funny  women  and  droll  men. 


THE  PEN  AND  THE  ALBUM.  447 

**0  Album  !  could  I  tell  you  all  his  ways 
And  thoughts,  since  I  am  his,  these  thousand  days, 
Lord,  how  your  pretty  pages  I'd  amaze  !  " 

ALBUM. 

•*  His  ways  ?  his  thoughts  ?     Just  whisper  me  a  few; 
Tell  me  a  curious  anecdote  or  two, 
And  write  'em  quickly  off,  good  Mordan,  do ! " 

PEN, 

"  Since  he  my  faithful  service  did  engage 
To  follow  him  through  his  queer  pilgrimage, 
I've  drawn  and  written  many  a  line  and  page. 

*'  Caricatures  I  scribbled  have,  and  rhymes, 
And  dinner-cards,  and  picture  pantomimes. 
And  merry  little  children's  books  at  times. 

•'  I've  writ  the  foolish  fancy  of  his  brain  ; 
The  aimless  jest  that,  striking,  hath  caused  pain; 
The  idle  word  that  he'd  wish  back  again. 


"  I've  help'd  him  to  pen  many  a  line  for  bread  ; 
To  joke,  with  sorrow  aching  in  his  head  ; 
And  make  your  laughter  when  his  own  heart  bled; 

"  I've  spoke  with  men  of  all  degree  and  sort — 
Peers  of  the  land,  and  ladies  of  the  Court ; 
Oh,  but  I've  chronicled  a  deal  of  sport ! 

"  Feasts  that  were  ate  a  thousand  days  ago, 
Biddings  to  wine  that  long  hath  ceased  to  flow, 
Gay  meetings  with  good  fellows  long  laid  low ; 

"  Summons  to  bridal,  banquet,  burial,  ball, 
Tradesman's  polite  reminders  of  his  small 
Account  due  Christmas  last — I've  answer'd  alL 

•'  Poor  Diddler's  tenth  petition  for  a  half- 
Guinea;  Miss  Bunyan's  for  an  autograph  ; 
So  I  refuse,  accept,  lament,  or  laugh, 


448  BALLADS. 

"  Condole,  congratulate,  invite,  praise,  scoff, 
Day  after  day  still  dipping  in  my  trough, 
And  scribbling  pages  after  pages  off. 

"  Day  after  day  the  labor's  to  be  done, 
And  sure  as  comes  the  postman  and  the  sun, 

The  indefatigable  ink  must  run. 

♦  *  *  * 

"  Go  back,  my  pretty  little  gilded  tome. 
To  a  fair  mistress  and  a  pleasant  home, 
Where  soft  hearts  greet  us  whensoe'er  we  come ! 

**  Dear,  friendly  eyes,  with  constant  kindness  lit, 
However  rude  my  verse,  or  poor  my  wit, 
Or  sad  or  gay  my  mood,  you  welcome  it. 

•'  Kind  lady  !  till  my  last  of  lines  is  penn'd, 
My  master's  love,  grief,  laughter,  at  an  end. 
Whene'er  I  write  your  name,  may  I  write  friend ! 

"  Not  all  are  so  that  were  so  in  past  years  ; 
Voices,  familiar  once,  no  more  he  hears  ; 
Names,  often  writ,  are  blotted  out  in  tears. 

"  So  be  it : — joys  will  end  and  tears  will  dry • 

Album  !  my  master  bids  me  wish  good-by, 
He'll  send  you  to  your  mistress  presently. 

*' And  thus  with  thankful  heart  he  closes  you ; 
Blessing  the  happy  hour  when  a  friend  he  knew 
So  gentle,  and  so  generous,  and  so  true. 

•'  Nor  pass  the  words  as  idle  phrases  by; 
Stranger  !  I  never  writ  a  flattery. 
Nor  sign'd  the  page  that  register'd  a  lie.** 


MRS.  KATHERINE'S  JLANTERl/.  449 


MRS.  KATHERINK  S  LANTERN. 

WRITTEN   IN   A   LADY'S  ALBUM. 

Coming  from  a  gloomy  court, 
Place  of  Israelite  resort, 
This  old  lamp  I've  brought  with  me. 
Madam,  on  its  panes  you'll  see 
The  initials  K  and  E." 

«  An  old  lantern  brought  to  me  ? 

Ugly,  dingy,  battered,  black  !  " 

(Here  a  lady  I  suppose 

Turning  up  a  pretty  nose) — 
«  Pray,  sir,  take  the  old  thing  back, 

I've  no  taste  for  bricabrac." 

«  Please  to  mark  the  letters  twain  " — 
(I'm  supposed  to  speak  again) — 

«*  Graven  on  the  lantern  pane. 
Can  you  tell  me  who  was  she, 
Mistress  of  the  flowery  wreath, 
And  the  anagram  beneath — 
The  mysterious  K  E  ? 

«  Full  a  hundred  years  are  gone 
Since  the  little  beacon  shone 
From  a  Venice  balcony : 
There,  on  summer  nights,  it  hung, 
And  her  lovers  came  and  sung 
To  their  beautiful  K  E. 

**Hush  !  in  the  canal  below 
Don't  you  hear  the  plash  of  oars 
Underneath  the  lantern's  glow, 
And  a  thrilling  voice  begins 
To  the  sound  of  mandolins  ? — 
Begins  singing  of  amore 
And  delire  and  dolore — 
O  the  ravishing  tenore ! 


4SO 


BALLADS. 

"Lady,  do  you  know  the  tune  ? 
Ah,  we  all  of  us  have  hummed  it ! 
I've  an  old  guitar  has  thrummed  it, 
Under  many  a  changing  moon. 
Shall  I  try  it?     Z?^  re  MI  *  * 
What  is  this  ?     Mafoi,  the  fact  is, 
That  my  hand  is  out  of  practice, 
And  my  poor  old  fiddle  cracked  is, 
And  a  man — I  let  the  truth  out, — 
Who's  had  almost  every  tooth  out, 
Cannot  sing  as  once  he  sung, 
When  he  was  young  as  you  are  young, 
When  he  was  young  and  lutes  were  strung, 
And  love-lamps  in  the  casement  hung." 


LUCYS  BIRTHDAY. 

Seventeen  rose-buds  in  a  ring, 
Thick  with  sister  flowers  beset. 
In  a  fragrant  coronet, 
Lucy's  servants  this  day  bring. 
Be  it  the  birthday  wreath  she  wears 
Fresh  and  fair,  and  symbolling 
The  young  number  of  her  years, 
The  sweet  blushes  of  her  spring. 

Types  of  youth  and  love  and  hope ! 
Friendly  hearts  your  mistress  greet. 
Be  you  ever  fair  and  sweet. 
And  grow  lovelier  as  you  ope! 
Gentle  nursling,  fenced  about 
With  fond  care,  and  guarded  so. 
Scarce  you've  heard  of  storms  without, 
Frosts  that  bite,  or  winds  that  blow  1 

Kindly  has  your  life  begun 

And  we  pray  that  heaven  may  send 

To  our  floweret  a  warm  sun, 

A  calm  summer,  a  sweet  end. 


THE  CANE-BOTTOM' D  CI/AIR.  451 

And  where'er  shall  be  her  home, 
May  she  decorate  the  place ; 
Still  expanding  into  bloom, 
And  developing  in  grace. 


THE    CANE-BOTTOM' D    CHAIR. 

In  tattered  old  slippers  that  toast  at  the  bars, 
And  a  ragged  old  jacket  perfumed  with  cigars. 
Away  from  the  world  and  its  toils  and  its  cares, 
I've  a  snug  little  kingdom  up  four  pair  of  stairs. 

To  mount  to  this  realm  is  a  toil,  to  be  sure, 

But  the  fire  there  is  bright  and  the  air  rather  pure  ; 

And  the  view  I  behold  on  a  sunsliiny  day 

Is  grand  through  the  chimney-pots  over  the  way. 

This  snug  little  chamber  is  cramm'd  in  all  nooks 

With  worthless  old  knicknacks  and  silly  old  books, 

And  foolish  old  odds  and  foolish  old  ends, 

Crack'd  bargains  from  brokers,  cheap  keepsakes  from  friends 

Old  armor,  prints,  pictures,  pipes,  china  (all  crack'd), 

Old  rickety  tables,  and  chairs  broken-backed  • 

A  twopenny  treasury,  wondrous  to  see  ; 

What  matter  ?  'tis  pleasant  to  you,  friend,  and  me. 

No  better  divan  need  the  Sultan  require, 
Than  the  creaking  old  sofa  that  basks  by  the  fire; 
And  'tis  wonderful,  surely,  what  music  you  get 
From  the  rickety,  ramshackle,  wheezy  spinet. 

That  praying-rug  came  from  a  Turcoman's  camp ; 
By  Tiber  once  twinkled  that  brazen  old  lamp  ; 
A  Mameluke  fierce  yonder  dagger  has  drawn  : 
'Tis  a  murderous  knife  to  toast  muffins  upon. 

Long,  long  through  the  hours,  and  the  night,  and  the  chimes, 
Here  we  talk  of  old  books,  and  old  friends,  and  old  times ; 
As  we  sit  in  a  fog  made  of  rich  Latakie 
This  chamber  is  pleasant  to  you,  friend,  and  me 
24* 


45  2  BALLADS. 

But  of  all  the  cheap  treasures  that  garnish  my  nest, 
There's  one  that  I  love  and  I  cherish  the  best : 
For  the  finest  of  couches  that's  padded  with  hair 
I  never  would  change  thee,  my  cane-bottom'd  chair. 

'Tis  a  bandy-legg'd,  high-shoulder'd,  worm-eaten  seat, 
With  a  creaking  old  back,  and  twisted  old  feet ; 
But  since  the  fair  morning  when  Fanny  sat  there, 
I  bless  thee  and  love  thee,  old  cane-bottom'd  chair. 

If  chairs  have  but  feeling,  in  holding  such  charms, 

A  thrill  must  have  pass'd  through  your  wither'd  old  arms  I 

I  look'd,  and  I  long'd,  and  I  wish'd  in  despair; 

I  wish'd  myself  turn'd  to  a  cane-bottom'd  chair. 

It  was  but  a  moment  she  sat  in  this  place. 

She'd  a  scarf  on  her  neck,  and  a  smile  on  her  face  ! 

A  smile  on  her  face,  and  a  rose  in  her  hair. 

And  she  sat  there,  and  bloom'd  in  my  cane-bottom'd  chair. 

And  so  I  have  valued  my  chair  ever  since, 

Like  the  shrine  of  a  saint,  or  the  throne  of  a  prince ; 

Saint  Fanny,  my  patroness  sweet  I  declare. 

The  queen  of  my  heart  and  my  cane-bottom'd  chair. 

When  the  candles  burn  low,  and  the  company's  gone, 
In  the  silence  of  night  as  I  sit  here  alone — 
I  sit  here  alone,  but  we  yet  are  a  pair — 
My  Fanny  I  see  in  my  cane-bottom'd  chair. 

She  comes  from  the  past  and  revisits  my  room ; 
She  looks  as  she  then  did,  all  beauty  and  bloom ; 
So  smiling  and  tender,  so  fresh  and  so  fair. 
And  yonder  she  sits  in  my  cane-bottom'd  chair. 


PISCAIOR  AND  PISCATRIX. 

PISCATOR  AND  PISCATRIX. 

LINES   WRITTEN   TO   AN   ALBUM   PRINT. 

As  on  this  pictured  page  I  look, 
This  pretty  tale  of  line  and  hook 
As  though  it  were  a  novel-book 

Amuses  and  engages : 
I  know  them  both,  the  boy  and  girl ; 
She  is  the  daughter  of  the  Earl, 
The  lad  (that  has  his  hair  in  curl) 

My  lord  the  County's  page  is. 

A  pleasant  place  for  such  a  pair ! 
The  fields  lie  basking  in  the  glare ; 
No  breath  of  wind  the  heavy  air    , 

Of  lazy  summer  quickens. 
Hard  by  you  see  the  castle  tall ; 
The  village  nestles  round  the  wall, 
As  round  about  the  hen  its  small 

Young  progeny  of  chickens. 

It  is  too  hot  to  pace  the  keep ; 
To  climb  the  turret  is  too  steep ; 
My  lord  the  earl  is  dozing  deep, 

His  noonday  dinner  over. 
The  postern-warder  is  asleep 
(Perhaps  they've  bribed  him  not  to  peep)  ; 
And  so  from  out  the  gate  they  creep, 

And  cross  the  fields  of  clover. 

Their  lines  into  the  brook  they  launch  j 
He  lays  his  cloak  upon  a  branch, 
To  guarantee  his  Lady  Blanche 

's  delicate  complexion : 
He  takes  his  rapier  from  his  haunch, 
That  beardless  doughty  champion  staunch ; 
He'd  drill  it  through  the  rival's  paunch 

That  question'd  his  afEection  1 


453 


454 


BALLADS. 

O  heedless  pair  of  sportsmen  slack  1 
You  never  mark,  though  trout  or  jack, 
Or  little  foolish  stickleback, 

Your  baited  snares  may  capture. 
What  care  has  she  for  line  and  hook  ? 
She  turns  her  back  upon  the  brook, 
Upon  her  lover's  eyes  to  look 

In  sentimental  rapture. 

O  loving  pair !  as  thus  I  gaze 
Upon  the  girl  who  smiles  always. 
The  little  hand  that  ever  plays 

Upon  the  lover's  shoulder; 
In  looking  at  your  pretty  shapes, 
A  sort  of  envious  wish  escapes 
(Such  as  the  Fox  had  for  the  Grapes) 

The  Poet  your  beholder. 

To  be  brave,  handsome,  twenty-two  ; 
With  nothing  else  on  earth  to  do, 
But  all  day  long  to  bill  and  coo  : 

It  were  a  pleasant  calling. 
And  had  I  such  a  partner  sweet ; 
A  tender  heart  for  mine  to  beat, 
A  gentle  hand  my  clasp  to  meet ; — 
I'd  let  the  world  flow  at  my  feet, 

And  never  heed  its  brawling. 


THE  ROSE  UPON  MY  BALCONY. 

The  rose  upon  my  balcony  the  morning  air  perfuming. 

Was  leafless  all  the  winter  time  and  pining  for  the  spring; 

You  ask  me  why  her  breath  is  sweet,  and  why  her  cheek   is 

blooming, 
It  is  because  the  sun  is  out  and  birds  begin  to  sing. 

The  nightingale,  whose  melody  is  through  the  greenwood  ringing, 
Was  silent  when  the  boughs  were  bare  and  winds  were  blowing 

keen  : 
And  if,  Mamma,  you  ask  of  me  the  reason  of  his  singing, 
It  is  because  the  sun  is  out  and  all  the  leaves  are  green. 


KONSAKD  TO  HIS  MISTRESS. 


455 


Thus  each  performs  his  part,  Mamma :  the  birds  have  found  their 

voices, 
The  blowing  rose  a  flush,  Mamma,  her  bonny  cheek  to  dye  ; 
And  there's  sunshine  in  my  heart,  Mamma,  which  wakens  and 

rejoices, 
And  so  I  sing  and  blush,  Mamma,  and  that's  the  reason  why. 


RONSARD  TO  HIS  MISTRESS. 

"  Quand  vous  serez  bien  vieille,  le  soir  k  la  chandelle 
Assise  auprfes  du  feu  devisant  et  filant, 
Direz,  chantant  oies  vers  en  vousesmerveillant, 
Ronsard  m'ac^ldbrd  du  temps  que  j'^tois  belle." 

Some  winter  night,  shut  snugly  ia 

Beside  the  fagot  in  the  hall, 
I  think  1  see  you  sit  and  spin. 

Surrounded  by  your  naaidens  all. 
Old  tales  are  told,  old  songs  are  sung. 

Old  days  come  back  to  memory  ; 
You  say,  "  When  I  was  fair  and  young, 

A  poet  sang  of  me  !  " 

There's  not  a  maiden  in  your  hall, 

Though  tired  and  sleepy  ever  so, 
But  wakes,  as  you  my  name  recall, 

And  longs  the  history  to  know. 
And,  as  the  piteous  tale  is  said, 

Of  lady  cold  and  lover  true, 
Each,  musing,  carries  it  to  bed, 

And  sighs  and  envies  you  I 

**  Our  lady's  old  and  feeble  now,'* 

They'll  say ;  "  she  once  was  fresh  and  faif, 
And  yet  she  spurn'd  her  lover's  vow. 

And  heartless  left  him  to  despair  : 
The  lover  lies  in  silent  earth. 

No  kindly  mate  the  lady  cheers ; 
She  sits  beside  a  lonely  hearth, 

With  threescore  and  ten  years  I " 


(^^6  BALLADS. 

Ah  !  dreary  thoughts  and  dreams  are  thosCj 

But  wherefore  yield  me  to  despair, 
While  yet  the  poet's  bosom  glows, 

While  yet  the  dame  is  peerless  fair! 
Sweet  lady  mine !  while  yet  'tis  time 

Requite  my  passion  and  my  truth, 
And  gather  in  their  blushing  prime 

The  roses  of  your  youth  ! 


AT  THE  CHURCH  GATE. 

Although  I  enter  not. 
Yet  round  about  the  spot 

Ofttimes  I  hover  : 
And  near  the  sacred  gate. 
With  longing  eyes  I  wait, 

Expectant  of  her. 

The  Minster  bell  tolls  out 

Above  the  city's  rout, 

And  noise  and  humming  : 

They've  hush'd  the  Minster  bell: 

The  organ  'gins  to  swell : 

She's  coming,  she's  coming ! 

My  lady  comes  at  last, 
Timid,  and  stepping  fast, 
And  hastening  hither, 

With  modest  eyes  downcast : 

She  comes — she's  here — she's  past- 
May  heaven  go  with  her  I 

Kneel,  undisturb'd,  fair  Saint! 
Pour  out  your  praise  or  plaint 

Meekly  and  duly  ; 
I  will  not  enter  there, 
To  sully  your  pure  prayer 

With  thoughts  unruly. 


THE  AGE  OF  WISDOM.  4^^ 

But  suffer  me  to  pace 
Round  the  forbidden  place, 

Lingering  a  minute 
Like  outcast  spirits  who  wait 
And  see  through  heaven's  gate 

Angels  within  it. 


THE  AGE  OF  WISDOM. 

Ho,  pretty  page,  with  the  dimpled  chin, 

That  never  has  known  the  Barber's  shear 
All  your  wish  is  woman  to  win, 
This  is  the  way  that  boys  begin, — 

Wait  till  you  come  to  Forty  Year. 
Curly  gold  locks  cover  foolish  brains, 

BiUing  and  cooing  is  all  your  cheer  ; 
Sighing  and  singing  of  midnight  strains, 
Under  Bonnybell's  window  panes, — 

Wait  till  you  come  to  Forty  Year. 

Forty  times  over  let  Michaelmas  pass, 
Grizzling  hair  the  brain  doth  clear — 
Then  you  know  a  boy  is  an  ass, 
Then  you  know  the  worth  of  a  lass, 
Once  you  have  come  to  Forty  Year. 

Pledge  me  round,  I  bid  ye  declare, 

All  good  fellows  whose  beards  are  gray, 
Did  not  the  fairest  of  the  fair 
Common  grow  and  wearisome  ere 
Ever  a  month  was  pass'd  away  ? 

The  reddest  lips  that  ever  have  kissed, 

The  brightest  eyes  that  ever  have  shone. 
May  pray  and  whisper,  and  we  not  list, 
Or  look  away,  and  never  be  missed, 
Ere  yet  ever  a  month  is  gone. 


458  BALLADS. 

Gillian's  dead,  God  rest  her  bier, 

How  I  loved  her  twenty  years  syne  ! 
Marian's  married,  but  I  sit  here 
Alone  and  merry  at  Forty  Year, 

Dipping  my  nose  in  the  Gascon  wine. 


SORROWS  OF  WERTHER. 

Werther  had  a  love  for  Charlotte 
Such  as  words  could  never  utter  ; 

Would  you  know  how  first  he  met  her? 
She  was  cutting  bread  and  butter. 

Charlotte  was  a  married  lady, 
And  a  moral  man  was  Werther, 

And  for  all  the  wealth  of  Indies, 
Would  do  nothing  for  to  hurt  her- 

So  he  sighed  and  pined  and  ogled, 
And  his  passion  boiled  and  bubbled, 

Till  he  blew  his  silly  brains  out. 
And  no  more  was  by  it  troubled. 

Charlotte,  having  seen  his  body 
Borne  before  her  on  a  shutter, 

Like  a  well-conducted  person, 

Went  on  cutting  bread  and  butter. 


A  DOE  IN  THE  CITY. 

Little  Kitty  Lorimer, 
Fair,  and  young,  and  witty, 

What  has  brought  your  ladyship 
Rambling  to  the  City  ? 


.4  DOE  IN  THE  CITY.  459 

All  the  stags  in  Capel  Court 

Saw  her  lightly  trip  it  ; 
All  the  lads  of  Stock  Exchange 

Twigg'd  her  muff  and  tippet. 

With  a  sweet  perplexity, 

And  a  mystery  pretty, 
Threading  through  Threadneedle  Street, 

Trots  the  little  Kitty. 

What  was  my  astonishment — 

What  was  my  compunction, 
When  she  reached  the  Offices 

Of  the  Didland  Junction  ! 

Up  the  Didland  stairs  she  went, 

To  the  Didland  door.  Sir  ; 
Porters  lost  in  wonderment 

Let  her  pass  before,  Sir. 

«  Madam,"  says  the  old  chief  Clerk, 

"  Sure  we  can't  admit  ye." 
«'  Where's  the  Didland  Junction  deed  ?" 

Dauntlessly  says  Kitty. 

"  If  you  doubt  my  honesty. 

Look  at  my  receipt,  Sir." 
Up  then  jumps  the  old  chief  Clerk, 

Smiling  as  he  meets  her. 

Kitty  at  the  table  sits 

(Whither  the  old  Clerk  leads  herX 
*'  I  deliver  this,^''  she  says, 
'■'•As  my  act  and  deed,  SirP 

When  I  heard  these  funny  words 

Come  from  the  lips  so  pretty ; 
This,  1  thought,  should  surely  be 

Subject  for  a  ditty. 

What  !  are  ladies  stagging  it? 

Sure,  the  more's  the  pity; 
But  I've  lost  my  heart  to  her, — 

Naughty  little  Kitty. 


460  BALLADS. 

THE  LAST  OF  MA  K 

(in   reply   to  an   invitation   dated   on   the   1ST.) 

By  fate's  benevolent  award, 

Should  I  survive  the  day, 
I'll  drink  a  bumper  with  my  lord 

Upon  the  last  of  May. 

That  I  may  reach  that  happy  time 

The  kindly  gods  I  pray, 
For  are  not  ducks  and  pease  in  prime 

Uf)on  the  last  of  May  ? 

At  thirty  boards,  'twixt  now  and  then, 

My  knife  and  fork  shall  play; 
But  better  wine  and  better  men 

I  shall  not  meet  in  May. 

*  And  though,  good  friend,  with  whom  I  dine, 

Your  honest  head  is  gray, 
And,  like  this  grizzled  head  of  mine. 
Has  seen  its  last  of  May ; 

Yet,  with  a  heart  that's  ever  Kind 

A  gentle  spirit  gay, 
You've  spring  perennial  in  your  mind, 

And  round  you  make  a  May! 


"  AH,  BLEAK  AND  BARREN  IP  AS  THE  MOOR: 

Ah  !  bleak  and  barren  was  the  moor. 
Ah  !  loud  and  piercing  was  the  storm. 

The  cottage  roof  was  shelter'd  sure, 

The  cottage  hearth  was  bright  and  warm— 


SONG  OP  THE  VIOLET.  461 

An  orplian-boy  the  lattice  pass'd, 

And,  as  he  mark'd  its  cheerful  glow, 
Felt  doubly  keen  the  midnight  blast, 

And  doubly  cold  the  fallen  snow. 

They  marked  him  as  he  onward  press'd, 

With  fainting  heart  and  weary  limb; 
Kind  voices  bade  him  turn  and  rest, 

And  gentle  faces  welcomed  him. 
The  dawn  is  up — the  guest  is  gone, 

The  cottage  hearth  is  blazing  still: 
Heaven  pity  all  poor  wanderers  lone  ! 

Hark  to  the  wind  upon  the  hill ! 


SONG  OF  THE   VIOLET. 

A  HUMBLE  flower  long  time  I  pined 

Upon  the  solitary  plain, 
And  trembled  at  the  angry  wind, 

And  shrunk  before  the  bitter  rain. 
And  oh  !  'twas  in  a  blessed  hour 

A  passing  wanderer  chanced  to  see. 
And,  pitying  the  lonely  flower, 

To  stoop  and  gather  me. 

I  fear  no  more  the  tempest  rude, 

On  dreary  heath  no  more  I  pine. 
But  left  my  cheerless  solitude, 

To  deck  the  breast  of  Caroline. 
Alas  our  days  are  brief  at  best, 

Nor  long  I  fear  will  mine  endure, 
Though  shelter'd  here  upon  a  breast 

So  gentle  and  so  pure. 

It  draws  the  fragrance  from  my  leaves, 

It  robs  me  of  my  sweetest  breath. 
And  every  time  it  falls  and  heaves, 

It  warns  me  of  my  coming  death. 
But  one  I  know  would  glad  forego 

All  joys  of  life  to  be  as  I  ; 
An  hour  to  rest  on  that  sweet  breast. 

And  then,  contented,  die. 


4f32  BALLADS. 


FAIRY  DAYS. 

Beside  the  old  hall-fire — upon  my  nurse's  knee, 

Of  happy  fairy  days — what  tales  were  told  to  me ! 

I  thought  the  world  was  once — all  peopled  with  princesses, 

And  my  heart  would  beat  to  hear — their  loves  and  their  distresses; 

And  many  a  quiet  night, — in  slumber  sweet  and  deep, 

The  pretty  fairy  people — would  visit  me  in  sleep. 

I  saw  them  in  my  dreams — come  flying  east  and  west. 
With  wondrous  fairy  gifts — the  new-born  babe  they  bless'd; 
One  has  brought  a  jewel — and  one  a  crown  of  gold, 
And  one  has  brought  a  curse — but  she  is  wrinkled  and  old. 
The  gentle  queen  turns  pale — to  hear  those  words  of  sin, 
But  the  king  he  only  laughs — and  bids  the  dance  begin. 

The  babe  has  grown  to  be — the  fairest  of  the  land, 
And  rides  the  iorest  green — a  hawk  upon  her  hand, 
An  ambling  palfrey  white — a  golden  robe  and  crown : 
I've  seen  her  in  my  dreams — riding  up  and  down  : 
And  heard  the*ogre  laugh — as  she  fell  into  his  snare, 
At  the  little  tender  creature — who  wept  and  tore  her  hairi 

But  ever  when  it  seemed — her  need  was  at  the  sorest, 

A  prince  in  shining  mail — comes  prancing  through  the  forest, 

A  waving  ostrich-plume — a  buckler  burnished  bright ; 

I've  seen  him  in  my  dreams — good  sooth  !  a  gallant  knight. 

His  lips  are  coral  red — beneath  a  dark  mustache ; 

See  how  he  waves  his  hand — and  how  his  blue  eyes  flash  ! 

"Come  forth,  thou  Paynim  knight ! " — he  shouts  in  accents  clear. 
The  giant  and  the  maid — both  tremble  his  voice  to  hear. 
Saint  Mary  guard  him  well ! — he  draws  his  falchion  keen, 
The  giant  and  the  knight— are  fighting  on  the  green. 
I  see  them  in  my  dreams — his  blade  gives  stroke  on  stroke 
The  giant  pants  and  reels — and  tumbles  like  an  oak ! 

With  what  a  blushing  grace — he  falls  upon  his  knee 

And  takes  the  lady's  hand — and  whispers,  "  You  are  free . 

Ah  !  happy  childish  tales — of  knight  and  faerie  ! 

I  waken  from  my  dreams — but  there's  ne'er  a  knight  for  me ; 

I  waken  from  my  dreams — and  wish  that  I  couUl  be 

A  child  by  the  old  hall-fire — upon  my  nurse's  knee ! 


POCAHONTAS.  463 


POCAHONTAS. 

Wearied  arm  and  broken  sword 
Wage  in  vain  the  desperate  fight : 

Round  him  press  a  countless  horde, 
He  is  but  a  single  knight. 

Hark  !  a  cry  of  triumph  shrill* 

Through  the  wilderness  resounds, 
As,  with  twenty  bleeding  wounds, 

Sinks  the  warrior,  fighting  still. 

Now  they  heap  the  fatal  pyre. 
And  the  torch  of  death  they  light 

Oh  !  'tis  hard  to  dia  of  fire  ! 

Who  will  shield  the  captive  knight? 

Round  the  stake  with  fiendish  cry 
Wheel  and  dance  the  savage  crowd, 
Cold  the  victim's  mien,  and  proud, 

And  his  breast  is  bared  to  die. 

Who  will  shield  the  fearless  heart? 

Who  avert  the  murderous  blade  ? 
From  the  throng,  with  sudden  start, 

See  there  springs  an  Indian  maid 
Quick  she  stands  before  the  knight, 
"  Loose  the  chain,  unbind  the  ring, 

I  am  daughter  of  the  king, 
And  I  claim  the  Indian  right !  " 

Dauntlessly  aside  she  flings 
Lifted  axe  and  thirsty  knife ; 

Fondly  to  his  heart  she  clings. 
And  her  bosom  guards  his  life  f 

In  the  woods  of  Powhattan, 
Still  'tis  told  by  Indian  fires. 
How  a  daughter  of  their  sires 

Saved  the  captive  Englishman. 


4^4  BALLADS. 


FROM  POCAHONTAS. 

Returning  from  the  cruel  fight 

How  pale  and  faint  appears  my  knight 

He  sees  me  anxious  at  his  side  ; 

"  Why  seek,  my  love,  your  wounds  to  hide  ? 

Or  deem  your  English  girl  afraid 

To  emulate  the  Indian  maid  ?  " 

Be  mine  my  husband's  grief  to  cheer. 
In  peril  to  be  ever  near; 
Whate'er  of  ill  or  woe  betide, 
To  bear  it  clinging  at  his  side  ; 
The  poisoned  stroke  of  fate  to  ward, 
His  bosom  with  my  own  to  guard: 
Ah !  could  it  spare  a  pang  to  his, 
It  could  not  know  a  purer  bliss  ! 
*T would  gladden  as  it  felt  the  smart. 
And  thank  the  hand  that  flung  the  dartf 


L0VE-SONGS  MADE  EASY 


IFJIAT  MAKES  MY  HEART  TO  THRILL  AND 
GLOIV? 

THE  MAY   FAIR  LOVE-SONG. 

Winter  and  summer,  night  and  morn, 
I  languish  at  this  table  dark ; 

My  office  window  has  a  corn- 
er looks  into  St.  James's  Park. 

I  hear  the  foot-guards'  bugle-horn. 
Their  tramp  upon  parade  I  mark ; 

I  am  a  gentleman  forlorn, 
I  am  a  Foreign-Office  Clerk. 

My  toils,  my  pleasures,  every  one, 

I  find  are  stale,  and  dull,  and  slow ; 
And  yesterday,  when  work  was  done, 

I  felt  myself  so  sad  and  low, 
I  could  have  seized  a  sentry's  gun 

My  wearied  brains  out  out  to  blow. 
What  is  it  makes  my  blood  to  run  ? 

What  makes  my  heart  to  beat  and  glow  ? 

My  notes  of  hand  are  burnt,  perhaps  ? 

Some  one  has  paid  my  tailor's  bill  ? 
No :  every  morn  the  tailor  raps ; 

My  I,  O  U's  are  extant  still. 
I  still  am  prey  of  debt  and  dun  ; 

My  elder  brother's  stout  and  well. 
What  is  it  makes  my  blood  to  run  ? 

What  makes  my  heart  to  glow  and  swell  ? 


466  LOVE-SONGS  MADE  EASY. 

I  know  my  chief's  distrust  and  hate  • 

He  says  I'm  lazy,  and  I  shirk. 
Ah !  had  I  genius  like  the  late 

Right  Honorable  Edmund  Burke  ! 
My  chance  of  all  promotion's  gone, 

I  know  it  is, — he  hates  me  so. 
What  is  it  makes  my  blood  to  run, 

And  all  my  heart  to  swell  and  glow  ? 

Why,  wliy  is  all  so  bright  and  gay  ? 

There  is  no  change,  there  is  no  cause; 
My  office-time  I  found  to-day 

Disgusting  as  it  ever  was. 
At  three,  I  went  and  tried  the  Clubs, 

And  yawned  and  saunter'd  to  and  fro  ; 
And  now  my  heart  jumps  up  and  throbs, 

And  all  my  soul  is  in  a  glow. 

At  half-past  four  I  had  the  cab ; 
I  drove  as  hard  as  I  could  go. 

The  London  sky  was  dirty  drab, 
And  dirty  brown  the  London  snow. 

And  as  I  rattled  in  a  cant- 
er down  by  dear  old  Bolton  Row, 

A  something  made  my  heart  to  pant. 
And  caused  my  cheek  to  flush  and  glow. 

What  could  it  be  that  made  me  find 

Old  Jawkins  pleasant  at  the  Club  ? 
Why  was  it  that  I  laughed  and  grinned 

At  whist,  although  1  lost  the  rub  ? 
What  was  it  made  me  drink  like  mad 

Thirteen  small  glasses  of  Curacjo  ? 
That  made  my  inmost  heart  so  glad, 

And  every  filjre  thrill  and  glow? 

She's  home  again  !  she's  home,  she's  home  I 

Away  all  cares  and  grief  and  pain ; 
I  knew  she  would^-shc's  back  from  Rome; 

She's  home  again  !  she's  home  again! 
"The  family's  gone  abroad,"  they  said, 

September  last — tliey  told  me  so; 
Since  then  my  lonely  heart  is  dead, 

My  blood  I  think's  forgot  to  flow. 


THE  MERRY  BARD.  467 

She's  home  again  !  away  all  care ! 

O  fairest  form  the  world  can  show  1 
O  beaming  eyes  !     O  golden  hair ! 

O  tender  voice,  that  breathes  so  low ! 
O  gentlest,  softest,  purest  heart  ! 

O  joy,  O  hope  ! — "  My  tiger,  ho  !  " 
Fitz-Clarence  said  ;  we  saw  him  starts 

He  galloped  down  to  Bolton  Row. 


THE    GHAZUL,  OR   ORIENTAL  LOVE-SONG, 
THE   ROCKS. 

I  WAS  a  timid  little  antelope  ; 

My  home  was  in  the  rocks,  the  lonely  rocks. 

I  saw  the  hunters  scouring  on  the  plain; 
I  lived  among  the  roclcs,  the  lonely  rocks. 

I  was  a-thirsty  in  the  summer-heat ; 

I  ventured  to  the  tents  beneath  the  rocks. 

Zuleikah  brought  me  water  from  the  well; 
Since  then  I  have  been  faithless  to  the  rocks 

I  saw  her  face  reflected  in  the  well ; 

Her  camels  since  have  marched  into  the  rocka. 

I  long  to  see  her  image  in  the  well ; 
I  only  see  my  eyes,  my  own  sad  eyes. 
My  mother  is  alone  among  the  rocks. 


THE  MERRY  BARD. 

Zuleikah  !  The  young  Agas  in  the  bazaar  are  sHm-waisted 
and  wear  yellow  slippers.  I  am  old  and  hideous.  One  of  my  eyes 
is  out,  and  the  hairs  of  my  beard  are  mostly  gray.  Praise  be  to 
Allah !     I  am  a  merry  bard. 

2<; 


46S  LOVE-SONGS  MADE  EASY. 

There  is  abird  upon  the  terrace  of  the  Emir's  chief  wife.  Praise 
be  to  Allah  !  He  has  emeralds  on  his  neck,  and  a  ruby  tail.  I  am 
a  merry  bard.     He  deafens  me  with  his  diabolical  screaming. 

There  is  a  little  brown  bird  in  the  basket-maker's  cage.  Praise 
be  to  Allah  I  He  ravishes  my  soul  in  the  moonlight.  I  am  a  merry 
bard. 

The  peacock  is  an  Aga,  but  the  little  bird  is  a  Bulbul. 

I  am  a  little  brown  Bulbul.  Come  and  listen  in  the  moonlight 
Praise  be  to  Allah !     I  am  a  merry  bard. 


THE  CAIQUE. . 

Yonder  to  the  kiosk,  beside  the  creek, 

Paddle  the  swift  caique. 

Thou  brawny  oarsman  with  the  sun-burnt  cheek, 

Quick !  for  it  soothes  my  heart  to  hear  the  Bulbul  speak. 

Ferry  me  quickly  to  the  Asian  shores, 

Swift  bending  to  your  oars. 

Beneath  the  melancholy  sycamores, 

Hark !  what  a  ravishing  note  the  love-lorn  Bulbul  potirs. 

Behold !  the  boughs  seem  quivering  with  delight, 

The  stars  themselves  more  bright, 

As  mid  the  waving  branches  out  of  sight 

The  Lover  of  the  Rose  sits  singing  through  the  night 

Under  the  boughs  I  sit  and  listened  still, 

I  could  not  have  my  fill. 

"  How  comes,"  I  said,  "  such  music  to  his  bill  ? 

Tell  me  for  whom  he  sings  so  beautiful  a  trill." 

"Once  I  was  dumb,"  then  did  the  Bird  disclose, 
"  But  looked  upon  the  Rose  ; 
And  in  the  garden  where  the  loved  one  grows, 
I  straightway  did  begin  sweet  music  to  compose." 


MV  NORA.  465 

"O  bird  of  song,  there's  one  in  lliis  caique 

The  Rose  would  also  seek, 

So  he  might  learn  like  you  to  love  and  speak." 

Then  answered  me  the  bird  of  dusky  beak, 

*'  The  Rose,  the  Rose  of  Love  blushes  on  Leilah's  cheek." 


MY  NORA. 

Beneath  the  gold  acacia  buds 
My  gentle  Nora  sits  and  broods, 
Far,  far  away  in  Boston  woods 

My  gentle  Nora! 

I  see  the  tear-drop  in  her  e'e, 
Her  bosom's  heaving  tenderly ; 
I  know — I  know  she  thinks  of  me, 

My  darling  Nora ! 

And  where  am  I  ?     My  love,  whilst  thou 
Sitt'st  sad  beneath  the  acacia  bough, 
Where  pearl's  on  neck,  and  wreath  on  brow, 
I  stand,  my  Nora ! 

Mid  carcanet  and  coronet, 
Where  joy-lamps  shine  and  flowers  are  set- 
Where  England's  chivalry  are  met, 

Behold  me,  Nora  1 

In  this  strange  scene  of  revelry, 
Amidst  this  gorgeous  chivalry, 
A  form  I  saw  was  like  to  thee. 

My  love — my  Nora  I 

She  paused  amidst  her  converse  glad; 
The  lady  saw  that  I  was  sad, 
She  pkied  the  poor  lonely  lad, — 

Dost  love  her,  Nora  ? 

In  sooth,  she  is  a  lovely  dame, 
A  lip  of  red,  and  eye  of  flame. 
And  clustering  golden  locks,  the  same 

As  thine,  dear  Noral 


^jQ  LOVE-SO A'GS  MADE  EASY. 

Her  glance  is  softer  than  the  dawn's. 
Her  foot  is  lighter  than  the  fawn's, 
Her  breast  is  whiter  than  the  swan's, 
Or  thine,  my  Nora! 

Oh,  gentle  breast  to  pity  me  ! 
Oh,  lovely  Ladye  Emily  ! 
Till  death— till  death  I'll  think  of  thee— 
Of  thee  and  Nora  J 


TO  MARY. 

I  SEEM,  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd, 

The  lightest  of  all ; 
My  laughter  rings  cheery  and  loud, 

In  banquet  and  ball. 
My  lip  hath  its  smiles  and  its  sneers. 

For  all  men  to  see  ; 
But  my  soul,  and  my  truth,  and  my  tears. 

Are  for  thee,  are  for  thee  ! 

Around  me  they  flatter  and  fawn— 

The  young  and  the  old, 
The  fairest  are  ready  to  pawn 

Their  hearts  for  my  gold. 
They  sue  me — I  laugh  as  I  spurn 

The  slaves  at  my  knee ; 
But  in  faith  and  in  fondness  I  turn 

Unto  thee,  unto  thee  ! 


SERENADE, 

Now  the  toils  of  day  are  over, 
And  the  sun  hath  sunk  to  rest, 

Seeking,  like  a  fiery  lover, 
The  bosom  of  the  blushing  west— 


COME  TO  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE.  471 

The  faithful  night  keeps  watch  and  ward. 

Raising  the  moon  her  silver  shield, 
And  summoning  the  stars  to  guard 

The  slumbers  of  my  fair  Mathilda  ! 

The  faithful  night  !     Now  all  things  lie 

Hid  by  her  mantle  dark  and  dim, 
In  pious  hope  I  hither  hie. 
And  humbly  chaunt  mine  ev'ning  hymn. 

Thou  art  my  prayer,  my  saint,  my  shrine  ! 

(For  never  holy  pilgrim  kneel'd, 
Or  wept  at  feet  more  pure  than  thine), 

My  virgin  love,  my  sweet  Mathilde ! 


THE  MINARET  BELLS, 

TiNK-A-TiNK,  tink-a-tink. 
By  the  light  of  the  star, 

On  the  blue  river's  brink, 
I  heard  a  guitar. 

I  heard  a  guitar, 

On  the  blue  waters  dear. 
And  knew  by  its  music, 

That  Selim  was  near  ! 

Tink-a-tink,  tink-a-tink, 
How  the  soft  music  swells 

And  I  hear  the  soft  clink 
Of  the  minaret  bdls  ! 


COME  TO  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE, 

Come  to  the  greenwood  tree. 
Come  where  the  dark  woods  be. 
Dearest,  O  come  with  me! 
Let  us  rove— O  my  love— O  my  love  1 


472  LOVE-SONGS  MADE  EASY. 

Come — 'tis  the  moonlight  hour. 
Dew  is  on  leaf  and  flower, 
Come  to  the  linden  bower, — 
Let  us  rove— O  my  love— O  my  love  ? 

Dark  is  the  wood,  and  wide : 
Dangers,  they  say,  betide  ; 
But,  at  my  Albert's  side. 
Nought  I  fear,  O  my  love— O  my  love  I 

Welcome  the  greenwood  tree, 
Welcome  the  forest  free, 
Dearest,  with  thee,  with  thee, 
Nought  I  fear,  O  my  love— O  my  love  1 


FIVE  GERMAN  DITTIES. 


A  TRAsrlC  STORY. 

BY   ADELBERT   VON   CHAMISSO. 
" 's  war  Einer,  dem's  tm  Herzen  gieng." 

There  lived  a  sage  in  days  of  yore 
And  he  a  handsome  pigtail  wore ; 
But  wondered  much  and  sorrowed  more 
Because  it  hung  behind  him. 

He  mused  upon  this  curious  case, 

And  swore  he'd  change  the  pigtail's  place, 

And  have  it  hanging  at  his  face, 

Not  dangling  there  behind  him. 

Says  he,  "  The  mystery  I've  found, — 
I'll  turn  me  round," — he  turned  him  round; 
But  still  it  hung  behind  him. 

Then  round,  and  round,  and  out  and  in. 
All  day  the  puzzled  sage  did  spin; 
In  vain — it  mattered  not  a  pin, — 

The  pigtail  hung  behind  him. 

And  right,  and  left,  and  round  about. 
And  up,  and  down,  and  in,  and  out, 
He  turned  ;  but  still  tlie  pigtail  stout 
Hung  steadily  behind  him. 


(473) 


474  -F/r^  GERMAN  DITTIES. 

And  though  his  efforts  never  slack, 
And  though  he  twist,  and  twirl,  and  tack, 
Alas  !  still  faithful  to  his  back 

The  pigtail  hangs  behind  him. 


THE  CHAPLET. 

FROM   UHLAND. 
"  Es  pfliickte  Blumlein  mannigat." 

A  LITTLE  girl  through  field  and  wood 
Went  plucking  flowerets  here  and  there^ 

When  suddenly  beside  her  stood 
A  lady  wondrous  fair ! 

The  lovely  lady  smiled,  and  laid 
A  wreath  upon  the  maiden's  brow  ; 

"Wear  it,  'twill  blossom  soon,"  she  said, 
"Although  'tis  leafless  now." 

The  little  maiden  older  grew 

And  wandered  forth  of  moonlight  eves, 
And  sighed  and  loved  as  maids  will  do ; 

When,  lo  !  her  wreath  bore  leaves. 

Then  was  our  maid  a  wife,  and  hung 
Upon  a  joyful  bridegroom's  bosom ; 

When  from  the  garland's  leaves  there  sprung 
Fair  store  of  blossom. 

And  presently  a  baby  fair 

Upon  her  gentle  breast  she  reared  ; 
When  midst  the  wreath  that  bound  her  hair 

Rich  golden  fruit  appeared. 

But  when  her  love  lay  cold  in  death. 
Sunk  in  the  black  and  silent  tomb, 

All  sere  and  withered  was  the  wreath 
That  wont  so  bright  to  bloom. 


THE  KTNG  ON  THE  TOWER. 

Yet  still  the  withered  wreath  she  wore ; 

She  wore  it  at  her  dying  hour ; 
When,  lo  !  the  wondrous  garland  bore 

Both  leaf,  and  fruit,  and  flower  1 


475 


THE  KING  ON  THE  TOWER. 

FROM   UHLAND. 
•'  Da  liegen  sie  alle,  die  grauen  Hohen." 

The  cold  gray  hills  they  bind  me  round, 
The  darksome  valleys  lie  sleeping  below. 

But  the  winds  as  they  pass  o'er  all  this  ground. 
Bring  me  never  a  sound  of  woe  ! 

Oh  !  for  all  I  have  suffered'and  striven. 
Care  has  embittered  my  cup  and  my  feast ; 

But  here  is  tlie  night  and  the  dark  blue  heaven, 
And  my  soul  shall  be  at  rest. 

O  golden  legends  writ  in  the  skies  ! 

I  turn  towards  you  with  longing  soul, 
And  list  to  the  awful  harmonies 

Of  the  Spheres  as  on  they  roll. 

My  hair  is  gray  and  my  sight  nigh  gone  ; 

My  sword  it  rusteth  upon  the  wall ; 
Right  have  I  spoken,  and  right  have  I  done  : 
When  shall  I  rest  me  once  for  all .'' 

O  blessed  rest  !  O  royal  nigtt ! 

Wherefore  seemeth  the  time  so  long 
Till  I  see  yon  stars  in  their  fullest  light, 

And  list  to  their  loudest  song  ? 
25* 


476  FIVE  GERMAN  DITTIES. 


OlSr  A   VERY  OLD   WOMAN, 

LA    MOTTE   FOUQUE. 
"  Und  Ehs  gingst  einst,  die  Myrt'  jm  Haare." 

And  thou  wert  once  a  maiden,  fair, 

A  blushing  virgin  warm  and  young: 
With  myrtles  wreathed  in  golden  hair, 
And  glossy  brow  that  knew  no  care — 
Upon  a  bridegroom's  arm  you  hung. 

The  golden  locks  are  silvered  now, 

The  blushing  cheek  is  pale  and  wan? 
The  spring  may  bloom,  the  autumn  glow 
All's  one — in  chimney  comer  thou 
Sitt'st  shivering  on. — 

A  moment — and  thO'U  sink'st  to  rest! 
To  wake  perhaps  an  angel  blest. 

In  the  bright  presence  of  thy  Lord, 
Ob,  weary  is  life's  path  to  all ! 
Hard  is  the  strife,  and  Tight  the  fall. 

But  wondrous  the  reward! 


A   CREDO. 


For  the  sole  edification 
Of  this  decent  congregation. 
Goodly  people,  by  your  grant 
I  will  sing  a  holy  chant — 

I  will  sing  a  holy  chant. 
If  the  ditty  sound  but  oddly, 
'Twas  a  father,  wise  and  godly, 


A  CREDO. 

Sang  it  so  long  ago — 
Then  sing  as  Martin  Luther  sang, 
As  Doctor  Martin  Luther  sang: 
"  Who  loves  not  wine,  woman  and  song. 
He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long  !" 

II. 

He,  by  custom  patriarchal, 
Loved  to  see  the  beaker  sparkle ; 
And  he  thought  the  wine  improved, 
Tasted  oy  the  lips  he  loved — 

By  the  kindly  lips  he  loved. 
Friends,  I  wish  this  custom  pious 
Duly  were  observed  by  us, 

To  combine  love,  song,  wine, 
And  sing  as  Martin  Luther  sang. 
As  Doctor  Martin  Luther  sang  : 
'•  Who  loves  not  wine,  woman  and  song. 
He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long  !" 


Who  refuses  this  our  Credo, 
And  who  will  not  sing  as  we  do. 
Were  he  holy  as  John  Knox, 
I'd  pronounce  him  heterodox  ! 

I'd  pronounce  him  heterodox, 
And  from  out  this  congregation. 
With  a  solemn  commination, 

Banish  quick  the  heretic, 
Who  will  not  sing  as  Luther  sang, 
As  Doctor  Martin  Luther  sang  : 
"  Who  loves  not  wine,  woman  and  song, 
He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  lone: !  ^ 


477 


FOUR  IMITATIONS  OF  BERANGER- 


LE   ROI  HYVETOT. 

Il  ^tait  un  roi  d'Yvetot, 

Peu  connu  dans  I'histoire  ; 
Se  levant  tard,  se  couchant  tot, 

Dormant  fort  bien  sans  gloire, 
Et  couronne  par  Jeanneton 
D'un  simple  bonnet  de  coton, 
Dit-on. 
Oh  !  oh  !  oil  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  afi ! 
Quel  bon  petit  roi  c'^tait  1^  ! 
La,  la. 

II  fesait  ses  quatre  repas 

Dans  son  palais  de  chaume, 
Et  sur  un  ane,  pas  h.  pas, 

Parcourait  son  royaume. 
Joyeux,  simple  et  croyant  le  blen, 
Pour  toute  garde  il  n'avait  rien 
Qu'un  chien. 
Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  &c. 

II  n'avait  de  goGt  ondreux 
Qu'une  soif  un  peu  vivc  ; 
Mais,  en  rendant  son  peuple  heureux, 

II  faut  bien  qu'un  roi  vive. 
Lui-meme  k  table,  et  sans  suppot,   - 
Sur  chaque  muid  levait  un  pot 
D'impot. 
Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah !  ah  !  ah  J  &c 


THE  KING  OF  YVETOT.  479 

Aux  filles  de  bonnes  maisons 

Comme  il  avait  su  plaire, 
Ses  sujets  avaient  cent  raisons 

De  le  nommer  leur  pere  : 
D'ailleurs  il  ne  levait  de  ban 
Que  pour  tirer  quatre  fois  I'an 
Au  blanc. 
Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  &c 

II  n'agrandit  point  ses  etats, 

Fut  un  voisin  comniode, 
Et,  modele  des  potentats, 
Prit  le  plaisir  pour  code. 
Ce  n'est  que  lorsqu'il  expira, 
Que  le  peuple  qui  I'enterra 
Pleura. 
Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  &C. 

On  conserve  encor  le  portrait 
De  ce  digne  et  bon  prince  ; 
C'est  I'enseigne  d'un  cabaret 
Fameux  dans  la  province. 
Les  jours  de  fete,  bien  souvent, 
La  foule  s'ecrie  en  buvant 
Devant : 
Oh  !  oh !  oh  !  oh  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  &c. 


THE   KING    OF   YVETOT, 

There  was  a  king  of  Yvetot, 

Of  whom  renown  hath  little  said, 
Who  let  all  thoughts  of  glory  go, 

And  dawdled  half  his  days  a-bed  ; 
And  every  night,  as  night  came  round, 
By  Jenny,  with  a  nightcap  crowned, 
Slept  very  sound : 
Sing  ho,  ho,  ho  !  and  he,  he,  he ! 
That's  the  kind  of  king  for  me. 


48o  FOUR  IMITA  T/OjVS  OF  BER ANGER. 

And  every  day  it  came  to  pass, 

That  four  lusty  meals  made  he  ; 
And,  step  by  step,  upon  an  ass. 

Rode  abroad,  his  realms  to  see ; 
And  wherever  he  did  stir, 
What  think  you  was  his  escort,  sir  ? 
Why,  an  old  cur. 
Sing  ho,  ho,  ho  !  &c. 

If  e'er  he  went  into  excess, 

'Twas  from  a  somewhat  lively  thirst, 
But  he  who  would  his  subjects  bless, 

Odd's  fish  .'—must  wet  his  whistle  first 
And  so  from  every  cask  they  got, 
Our  king  did  to  himself  allot, 
At  least  a  pot. 
Sing  ho,  ho  !  &c. 

To  all  the  ladies  of  the  land, 

A  courteous  king,  and  kind,  was  he ; 
The  reason  why  you'll  understand, 

They  named  him  Pater  Patrix. 
Each  year  he  called  his  fighting  men, 
And  marched  a  league  from  home,  and  then 
Marched  back  again. 
Sing  ho,  ho  !  &c. 

Neither  by  force  nor  false  pretence, 

He  sought  to  make  his  kingdom  great, 
And  made  (O  princes,  learn  from  hence)— 

"  Live  and  let  live,"  his  rule  of  state. 
'Twas  only  when  he  came  to  die. 
That  his  people  who  stood  by, 

Were  known  to  cry. 
Sing  ho.  ho  !  &c. 

The  portrait  of  this  best  of  kings 

Is  extant  still,  upon  a  sign 
That  on  a  village  tavern  swings, 

Famed  in  the  country  for  good  wine. 


THE  KING  OF  BRENTFORD.  481 

Tlie  people  in  their  Sunday  trim, 
Filling  their  glasses  to  the  brim, 
Look  up  to  him, 

Singing  ha,  ha,  ha  \  and  he,  he,  he ! 

That's  the  sort  of  kins  for  me. 


THE  KING  OF  BRENTFORD, 

ANOTHER  version- 
There  was  a  king  in  Brentford, — of  whom  no  legends  tell. 
But  who,  without  his  glory, — could  eat  and  sleep  right  well. 
His  Polly's  cotton  nightcap, — it  was  his  crown  of  state. 
He  slept  of  evenings  early,^and  rose  of  mornings  late. 

All  in  a  fine  mud  palace, — each  day  he  took  four  meals, 

And  for  a  guard  of  honor,^a  dog  ran  at  his  heels. 

Sometimes,  to  a  view  his  kingdoms, — rode  forth  this  monarch  good. 

And  then  a  prancing  jackass — he  royally  bestrode. 

There  were  no  costly  habits — with  whicli  this  king  was  curst, 
Except  (and  where's  the  harm  on't  ?) — a  somewhat  lively  thirst; 
But  people  must  pay  taxes, — and  kings  must  have  their  sport, 
So  out  of  every  gallon — His  Grace  he  took  a  quart. 

He  pleased  the  ladies  round  him, — with  manners  soft  and  bland ; 
With  reason  good,  they  named  him, — the  father  of  his  land. 
Each  year  his  mighty  armies — marched  forth  in  gallant  show; 
Their  enemies  were  targets, — their  bullets  they  were  tow. 

He  vexed  no  quiet  neighbor, — no  useless  conquest  made, 
But  by  the  laws  of  pleasure, — his  peaceful  realm  he  swayed. 
And  in  the  years  he  reigned, — through  all  this  country  wide, 
There  was  no  cause  for  weeping, — save  when  the  good  man  died. 

The  faithful  men  of  Brentford, — do  still  their  king  deplore. 
His  portrait  yet  is  swinging, — beside  an  alehouse  door. 
And  topers,  tender-hearted, — regard  his  honest  phiz, 
And  envy  times  departed, — that  knew  a  reign  like  his. 

31 


482  FOUR  IMITA  TIOiVS  OF  BER ANGER 


LE  GRENIER. 

Je  viens  revoir  I'asile  ou  ma  jeunesse 
De  la  misere  a  subi  les  lemons. 
J'avais  vingt  ans,  une  folle  maitresse, 
De  francs  amis  et  I'amour  des  chansons. 
Bravant  le  monde  et  les  sots  et  les  sages, 
Sans  avenir,  riche  de  mon  printemps, 
Leste  et  joyeux  je  montais  six  Stages, 
Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt  ans  ! 

C'est  un  grenier,  point  ne  veux  qu'on  I'ignore, 
Lk  fut  mon  lit,  bien  ch^tif  et  bien  dur; 
Lk  fut  ma  table ;  et  je  retrouve  encore 
Trois  pieds  d'un  vers  charbonnds  sur  le  mur. 
Apparaissez,  plaisirs  de  mon  bel  age, 
Que  d'un  coup  d'aile  a  fustiges  le  temps,, 
Vingt  fois  pour  vous  j'ai  mis  ma  montre  en  gage. 
Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  k  vingt  ans  ! 

Lisette  ici  doit  surtout  apparaitre, 

Vive,  jolie,  avec  un  frais  chapeau  ; 

Dejk  sa  main  k  I'etroite  fenetre 

Suspend  son  schal,  en  guise  de  rideau. 

Sa  robe  aussi  va  parer  ma  couchette ; 

Respecte,  Amour,  ses  plis  longs  et  flottans. 

J'ai  su  depuis  qui  payait  sa  toilette 

Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  k  vingt  ans ! 

A  table  un  jour,  jour  de  grande  richesse, 
De  mes  amis  les  voix  brillaient  en  choeur, 
Quand  jusqu'ici  monte  un  cri  d'allegresse : 
A  Marengo  Bonaparte  est  vainqucur. 
Le  canon  gronde  ;  un  autre  chant  commence  ; 
Nous  celdbrons  tant  de  faits  eclatans. 
Les  rois  jamais  n'envahiront  la  France. 
Danj  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  k  vingt  ans  ! 


THE  GARRET. 

Quittons  ce  toit  ou  ma  raison  s'enivre. 
Oh  !  qu'ils  sont  loin  ces  jours  si  regrettes  ! 
J'echangerais  ce  qu'il  me  reste  i  vivre 
Contre  un  des  mois  qu'ici  Dieu  m'a  comptes, 
Pour  rever  gloire,  amour,  plaisir,  folic, 
Pour  depenser  sa  vie  en  peu  d'instans 
D'un  long  espoir  pour  la  voir  emhellie, 
Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  h,  vingt  ans ! 


4»3 


THE    GARRET. 

With  pensive  eyes  the  little  room  I  view. 

Where,  in  my  youth,  I  weathered  it  so  long  ; 
With  a  wild  mistress,  a  stanch  friend  or  two, 

And  a  light  lieart  still  breaking  into  song : 
Making  a  mock  of  life,  and  all  its  cares, 

Rich  in  the  glory  of  my  rising  sun, 
Lightly  I  vaulted  up  four  pair  of  stairs, 

In  the  brave  days  when  I  was  twenty-one. 

Yes ;  'tis  a  garret — let  him  know't  who  will — 

There  was  my  bed — full  hard  it  was  and  small ; 
My  table  there — and  I  decipher  still 

Half  a  lame  couplet  charcoaled  on  the  wall. 
He  joys,  that  Time  hath  swept  with  him  away, 

Come  to  mine  eyes,  ye  dreams  of  love  and  fun ; 
For  you  I  pawned  my  watch  how  many  a  day, 

In  the  brave  days  when  I  was  twenty-one. 

And  see  my  Httle  Jessy,  first  of  all ; 

She  comes  with  pouting  lips  and  sparkling  eyes; 
Behold,  how  roguishly  she  pins  her  shawl 

Across  the  narrow  casement,  curtain-wise  ; 
Now  by  the  bed  her  petticoat  glides  down. 

And  when  did  woman  look  the  worse  in  none  ? 
I  have  heard  since  who  paid  for  many  a  gown, 

In  the  brave  days  when  I  was  twenty-one. 


484  FOUR  IMITATIONS  OF  BERANGER. 

One  jolly  evening,  when  my  friends  and  I 

Made  happy  music  with  our  songs  and  cheers, 
A  shout  of  triumph  mounted  up  thus  high, 

And  distant  cannon  opened  on  our  ears  : 
We  rise. — we  join  in  the  triumphant  strain, — 

Napoleon  conquers — Austerlitz  is  won — 
Tyrants  shall  never  tread  us  down  again, 

In  the  brave  days  when  I  was  twenty-one. 

Let  us  begone — the  place  is  sad  and  strange — 

How  far,  far  off,  these  happy  times  appear ; 
All  that  I  have  to  live  I'd  gladly  change 

For  one  such  month  as  I  have  wasted  here — 
To  draw  long  dreams  of  beauty,  love,  and  power, 

From  founts  of  hope  that  never  will  outrun, 
And  drink  all  life's  quintessence  in  an  hour, 

Give  me  the  days  when  I  was  twenty -one ! 


ROGER-BONTEMPS. 

Aux  gens  atrabilaires 
Pour  exemple  donne, 
En  un  temps  de  miseres 
Roger-Bontemps  est  ne. 
Vivre  obscur  a  sa  guise, 
Narguer  les  mecontens ; 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  devise 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Du  chapeau  de  son  pdre 
Coiffe  dans  les  grands  jours, 
De  roses  ou  de  lierre 
Le  rajeunir  toujours ; 
Mettre  un  manteau  de  bure, 
Vieil  ami  de  vingt  ans  ; 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  parure 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 


ROGER-BONTEMPS.  485 

Posseder  dans  sa  hutte 
Une  table,  un  vieux  lit, 
Des  cartes,  une  flute, 
Un  broc  que  Dieu  remplit; 
Un  portrait  de  maitresse, 
Un  coff  re  et  rien  dedans ; 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  richesse 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Aux  enfans  de  la  ville 
Montrer  de  petits  jeux ; 
Etre  fesseur  habile 
De  contes  graveleux ; 
Ne  parler  que  de  danse 
Et  d'almanachs  chantans : 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  science 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Faute  de  vins  d'^lite, 
Sabler  ceux  du  canton : 
Preferer  Marguerite 
Aux  dames  du  grand  ton : 
De  joie  et  de  tendresse 
Remplir  tous  ses  instans  : 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  sagesse 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Dire  au  ciel:  Je  me  fie, 
Mon  pere,  k  ta  bonte ; 
De  ma  philosophie 
Pardonne  le  gaite : 
Que  ma  saison  derniere 
Soit  encore  un  printemps ; 
Eh  gai !  c'est  la  pri^re 
Du  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 

Vous  pauvres  pleins  d'envie, 
Vous  riches  desireux, 
Vous,  dont  le  char  d^vie 
Apres  un  cours  heureux ; 
Vous,  qui  perdrez  peut-etre 
Des  titres  eclatans, 
Eh  gai  !  prenez  pour  maitre 
Le  gros  Roger-Bontemps. 


486  FOUR  IMITATIONS  OF  BER ANGER. 


yOLL  Y  JACK. 

When  fierce  political  debate 

Throughout  the  isle  was  storming, 
And  Rads  attacked  the  throne  and  state, 

And  Tories  the  reforming, 
To  calm  the  furious  rage  of  each, 

And  right  the  land  demented, 
Heaven  sent  us  Jolly  Jack,  to  teach 

The  way  to  be  contented. 

Jack's  bed  was  straw,  'twas  warm  and  soft, 

His  chair,  a  three-legged  stool ; 
His  broken  jug  was  emptied  oft, 

Yet,  somehow,  always  full. 
His  mistress'  portrait  decked  the  wall, 

His  mirror  had  a  crack; 
Yet,  gay  and  glad,  though  this  was  all 

His  wealth,  lived  Jolly  Jack. 

To  give  advice  to  avarice. 

Teach  pride  its  mean  condition. 
And  preach  good  sense  to  dull  pretence, 

Was  honest  Jack's  high  mission. 
Our  simple  statesman  found  this  rule 

Of  moral  in  the  flagon, 
And  held  his  philosophic  school 

Beneath  the  "  George  and  Dragon.' 

When  village  Scions  cursed  the  Lords, 

And  called  the  malt-tax  sinful, 
Jack  heeded  not  their  angry  words, 

But  smiled  and  drank  his  skinful. 
And  when  men  wasted  health  and  life. 

In  search  of  rank  and  riches. 
Jack  marked  aloof  the  paltry  strife, 

Aud  wore  his  threadbare  breeches. 


JOLLY  JACK  487 

"  T  enter  not  the  church,"  he  said, 

"  But  I'll  not  seek  to  rob  it ; " 
So  worthy  Jack  Joe  Miller  read, 

While  others  studied  Cobbett. 
His  talk  it  was  of  feast  and  fun  ; 

His  guide  the  Almanac; 
From  youth  to  age  thus  gayly  run 

1  he  life  of  Jolly  Jack 

And  when  Jack  prayed,  as  oft  he  would, 

He  humbly  thanked  his  Maker; 
"  I  am,"  said  he,  "  O  Father  good  ! 

Nor  Catholic  nor  Quaker  : 
Give  each  his  creed,  let  each  proclaim 

His  catalogue  of  curses  ; 
I  trust  in  Thee,  and  not  in  them, 

In  Thee,  and  in  Thy  mercies  ! 

"  Forgive  me  if,  midst  all  thy  works 

No  hint  I  see  of  damning; 
And  think  there's  faith  among  the  Turk3» 

And  hope  for  e'en  the  Brahmin. 
Harmless  my  mind  is,  and  my  mirth, 

And  kindly  is  my  laughter ; 
I  cannot  see  the  smiling  earth. 

And  think  there's  hell  hereafter."  « 

Jack  died  ;  he  left  no  legacy, 

Save  that  his  story  teaches  : — 
Content  to  peevish  poverty ; 

Humility  to  riches. 
Ye  scornful  great,  ye  envious  small. 

Come  follow  in  his  track ; 
We  all  were  happier,  if  we  all 

Would  copy  Jolly  Jack. 


IMITATION    OF    HORACE. 


TO  HIS  SERVING  BOY. 

Persicos  odi, 
Puer,  apparatus  : 
Displicent  nexas 
Philyra  coronae : 
Mitte  sectari, 
Rosa  quo  locorum 
Sera  moretur. 

Simplici  myrto 
Nihil  allabores 
Sedulus,  euro: 
Neque  te  ministrum 
Dedecet  myrtus, 
Neque  me  sub  arcta 
Vite  bibentem. 


AD  MINISTRAM. 

Dear  Lucy,  you  know  what  my  wish  is 

I  hate  all  your  Frenchified  fuss  : 
Your  silly  entrees  and  made  dishes 

Were  never  intended  for  us. 
No  footman  in  lace  and  in  ruffles 

Need  dangle  behind  my  arm-chair; 
And  never  mind  seekini,^  for  truffles, 

Although  they  be  ever  so  rare. 


(488) 


AD  MINISTFAM.  489 

But  a  plain  leg  of  mutton,  my  Lucy, 

I  prithee  get  ready  at  three  : 
Have  it  smoking,  and  tender  and  juicy, 

And  what  better  meat  can  there  be  ? 
And  when  it  has  feasted  the  master, 

'Twill  amply  suffice  for  the  maid ; 
Meanwhile  I  will  smoke  my  canaster 

And  tipple  my  ale  in  the  shade. 


OLD  FRIENDS  WITH  NEW  FACES. 


THE  KNIGHTLY  GUERDON.  * 

Untrue  to  my  Ulric  I  never  could  be, 

I  vow  by  the  saints  and  the  blessed  Marie, 

Since  the  desolate  hour  when  we  stood  by  the  shore, 

And  your  dark  galley  waited  to  carry  you  o'er  : 

My  faith  then  I  pliglited,  my  love  I  confess'd, 

As  I  gave  you  the  Battle-Axe  marked  with  your  crest  I 

When  the  bold  barons  met  in  my  father's  old  hall, 
Was  not  Edith  the  flower  of  the  banquet  and  ball  ? 
In  the  festival  hour,  on  the  lips  of  your  bride. 
Was  there  ever  a  smile  save  with  Thee  at  my  side? 
Alone  in  my  turret  I  loved  to  sit  best, 
To  blazon  your  Banner  and  broider  your  crest. 

"WAPPING  OLD  STAIRS. 

*'  Your  Molly  has  never  been  false,  she  declares, 
Since  the  last  time  we  parted  at  Wapping  O'.d  Stairs  ; 
When  I  said  that  I  would  continue  the  same, 
And  gave  you  the  'bacco-box  marked  with  my  name. 
When  I  passed  a  whole  fortnight  between  decks  with  you. 
Did  I  e'er  give  a  kiss,  Tom,  to  one  of  your  crew  ? 
To  be  useful  and  kind  to  my  Thomas  I  stay'd, 
For  his  trousers  I  washed,  and  his  grog  too  I  made. 

"  Though  you  promised  last  Sunday  to  walk  in  the  Mall 
With  Susan  from  Deptford,  and  likewise  with  Sail, 
In  silence  I  stood  your  unkindness  tc  hear. 
And  only  upbraided  my  Tom  with  a  tear. 
Why  should  Sail,  or  should  Susan,  than  me  be  morepriMdl 
For  the  heart  that  is  true,  Tom,  should  ne'er  be  despised; 
Then  be  constant  and  kind,  nor  your  Molly  forsake, 
Stll  your  trousers  I'll  wash  and  your  grog  too  I'll  make." 

(49=) 


THE  ALMACK'S  ADTEU. 


491 


The  knights  were  assembled,  the  tourney  was  gay! 

Sir  Ulric  rode  first  in  the  warrior-melee. 

In  the  dire  battle-hour,  when  the  tourney  was  done, 

And  you  gave  to  another  the  wreath  you  had  won  ! 

Though  I  never  reproached  thee,  cold,  cold  was  my  breast. 

As  I  thought  of  that  Battle-axe,  ah  !  and  that  cret! 

But  away  with  remembrance,  no  more  will  I  pine       ^ 
That  others  usurped  for  a  time  what  was  mine  ! 
There's  a  Festival  Hour  for  my  Ulric  and  me  : 
Once  more,  as  of  old,  shall  he  bend  at  my  knee ; 
Once  more  by  the  side  of  the  knight  I  love  best 
Shall  I  blazon  his  Banner  and  broider  his  crest. 


THE  ALMACK'S  ADIEU. 

Your  Fanny  was  never  false-hearted, 

And  this  she  protests  and  she  vows. 
From  the  triste  moment  when  we  parted 

On  the  staircase  of  Devonshire  House  ! 
I  blushed  when  you  asked  me  to  marry, 

I  vowed  I  would  never  forget; 
And  at  parting  I  gave  my  dear  Harry 

A  beautiful  vinegarette  ! 

We  spent  en  province  all  December, 

And  I  ne'er  condescended  to  look 
At  Sir  Charles,  or  tiic  rich  county  member. 

Or  even  at  that  darling  old  Duke. 
You  were  busy  with  dogs  and  with  horses. 

Alone  in  my  chamber  I  sat. 
And  made  you  the  nicest  of  purses, 

And  the  smartest  black  satin  cravat  I 

At  night  with  that  vile  Lady  Frances 

{Je  faisois  moi  tapisserie) 
You  danced  every  one  of  the  dances, 

And  never  once  tliought  of  poor  me  ! 
Mon  pauvre  petit  coenr  !  what  a  shiver 

I  felt  as  she  danced  the  last  set ; 
And  you  gave,  O  mon  Di  ju !  to  revive  her 

My  beautiful  vinegii7ette  / 
26 


492 


OLD  FRIENDS  WTTH  NEW  FACES. 

Return,  love  !  away  witli  coquetting; 

This  flirting  disgraces  a  man  ! 
And  ah  !  all  the  while  you're  forgetting 

The  heart  of  your  poor  little  Fan  ! 
Reviens  !  break  away  from  those  Circes, 

Rcviens,  for  a  nice  little  chat ; 
And  I've  made  you  the  sweetest  of  purses,. 

And  a  lovely  black  satin  cravat ! 


WHEN  THE  GLOOM  IS  ON  THE  GLEN. 

When  the  moonlight's  on  the  mountaia 

And  the  gloom  is  on  the  glen, 
At  the  cross  beside  the  fountain  ; 

There  is  one  will  meet  you  then 
At  the  cross  beside  the  fountain  ; 

Yes,  the  cross  beside  the  fountain, 
There  is  one  will  meet  thee  then  ! 

I  have  braved,  since  first  we  met,  love. 

Many  a  danger  in  my  course  ; 
But  I  never  can  forget,  love. 

That  dear  fountain,  that  old  cross, 
Where,  her  mantle  shrouded  o'er  her — 

For  the  winds  were  chilly  then — 
First  I  met  my  Leonora, 

When  the  gloom  was  on  the  glen. 

Many  a  clime  I've  ranged  since  then,  love, 

Many  a  land  I've  wandered  o'er; 
But  a  valley  like  that  glen,  love, 

Half  so  dear  I  never  sor! 
Ne'er  saw  maiden  fairer,  coyer. 

Than  wert  thou,  my  true  love,  when 
In  the  gloaming  first  I  saw  yer. 

In  the  gloaming  of  the  gbn  ! 


THE  RED  FLAG. 


493 


THE  RED  FLAG. 

Where  the  quivering  lightning  flings 

His  arrows  from  out  the  clouds, 
And  the  howling  tempest  sings 

And  whistles  among  the  shrouds, 
'Tis  pleasant,  'tis  pleasant  to  ride 

Along  the  foaming  brine — 
Wilt  be  the  Rover's  l^ride? 

Wilt  follow  him,  lady  mine  ? 
Hurrah  ! 
For  the  bonny,  bonny  brine. 

Amidst  the  storm  and  rack, 

You  shall  see  our  galley  pass, 
As  a  serpent,  lithe  and  black, 

Glides  through  the  waving  grass. 
As  the  vulture  swift  and  dark, 

Down  on  the  ring-dove  flies, 
You  shall  see  the  Rover's  bark 

Swoop  down  upon  his  prize- 
Hurrah  ! 
For  the  bonny,  bonny  prize. 

Over  her  sides  we  dash, 

We  gallop  across  her  deck — 
Ha  !  there's  a  ghastly  gash 

On  the  merchant-captain's  neck — • 
Well  shot,  well  shot,  old  Ned  ! 

Well  struck,  well  struck,  black  James  ? 
Our  arms  are  red,  and  our  foes  are  dead, 

A  nd  we  Ijave  a  ship  ni  flames  ! 
Hurrah  ! 
For  the  bonny,  bonny  flames ! 


^g4  OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW  FACES. 

DEAR  JACK. 

Dear  Jack,  this  white  mug  that  with  Guinness  I  fill, 
And  drink  to  the  health  of  sweet  Nan  of  the  Hill, 
Was^nce  Tommy  Tosspot's,  as  jovial  a  sot 
As  e'er  drew  a  spigot,  or  drain'd  a  full  pot — 
In  drinking  all  round  'twas  his  joy  to  surpass, 
And  with  all  merry  tipplers  he  swigg'd  ofi  his  glass. 

One  morning  in  summer,  while  seated  so  snug, 

In  the  porch  of  liis  garden,  discussing  his  jug. 

Stern  Death,  on  a  sudden,  to  Tom  did  appear, 

And  said,  "  Honest  Thomas,  come  take  your  last  bier.** 

We  kneaded  his  clay  in  the  shape  of  this  can. 

From  which  let  us  drink  to  the  health  of  my  Nan. 


COMMANDERS  OF  THE  FAITHFUL. 

The  Pope  he  is  a  happy  man, 

His  Palace  in  the  Vatican, 

And  there  he  sits  and  drains  his  can; 

The  Pope  he  is  a  happy  man. 

I  often  say  when  I'm  at  home, 

I'd  like  to  be  the  Pope  of  Rome. 

And  then  there's  Sultan  Saladin, 
That  Turk'sh  Soldan  full  of  sin; 
He  has  a  hundred  wives  at  least. 
By  which  his  pleasure  is  increased ; 
I've  often  wished,  I  hope  no  sin, 
That  I  were  Sultan  Saladin. 

But  no,  the  Pope  no  wife  may  choose, 
And  so  I  would  not  wear  his  shoes  ; 
No  v;ine  may  drink  the  proud  Paynim, 
And  so  I'd  rather  not  be  him: 
My  wife,  my  wine,  I  love,  I  hope, 
And  would  be  neither  Turk  nor  Pope. 


WHEN  MOONLIKE  ORE  THE  HAZURE  SEAS. 


495 


WHEN  MOONLIKE  ORE  THE  HAZURE  SEAS, 

When  moonlike  ore  the  hazure  seas 

In  soft  effulgence  swells, 
When  silver  jews  and  balmy  breaze 

Bend  down  the  Lily's  bells  ; 
When  calm  and  deap,  the  rosy  sleap 

Has  lapt  your  soal  in  dreems, 
R  Hangeline  !     R  lady  mine  ; 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames  ? 

I  mark  thee  in  the  Marble  All, 

Where  England's  loveliest  shine— 
I  say  the  fairest  of  them  hall 

Is  Lady  Hangeline. 
My  soul,  in  desolate  eclipse, 

With  recollection  teems — 
And  then  I  hask,  with  weeping  lips, 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames  ? 

Away  !  I  may  not  tell  thee  hall 

This  soughring  heart  endures— 
There  is  a  lonely  sperrit-call 

That  Sorrow  never  cures  ; 
There  is  a  little,  little  Star, 

That  still  above  me  beams ; 
It  is  the  Star  of  Hope — but  ar! 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames? 


THE 


LEGEND   OF   ST.   SOPHIA   OF   KIOFF. 


AN    EPIC    POEM,    IN   TWENTY   BOOKS. 


The  Poet 
describes  the 
city  and  spelling 
of  Kiow,  KiofF, 
•r  Kiuva. 


A  THOUSAND  years  ago,  or  more, 

A  city  filled  with  burghers  stout, 

And  girt  witli  ramparts  round  about, 
Stood  on  the  locky  Dnieper  shore. 
In  armor  bright,  by  day  and  night. 

The  sentries  they  paced  to  and  fro. 
Weil  guarded  and  walled  was  this  town,  and  called 

By  different  names,  I'd  have  you  to  know 
For  if  you  looks  in  the  g'ography  books, 
In  those  dictionaries  the  name  't  varies, 
And  they  write  it  off  Kieff  or  Kioff, 

Kiova  or  Kiow. 


Its  buildings, 
public  works, 
and  ordinances, 
religious  and 
civil. 


II. 

Thus  guarded  without  by  wall  and  redoubt, 

Kiova  within  was  a  place  of  renown, 
With  more  advantages  than  in  those  dark  ages 
Were  commonly  known  to  belong  to  a  town. 
There  were  places  and  squares,  and  each  year  foul 

fairs, 
And  regular  aldermen  and  regular  lord  mayors; 
And  streets,  and  alleys,  and  a  bishop's  palace ; 

(40) 


THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC. 


497 


And  a  church  with  clocks  for  the  orthodox — 
With  clocks  and  with  spires,  as  religion  desires ; 
And  beadles  to  whip  the  bad  little  boys 
Over  their  poor  little  corduroys, 
In  service-time,  when  they  didti't  make  a  noise; 
And  a  chapter  and  dean,  and  a  cathedral-green 
With  ancient  trees,  underneath  whose  shades 
Wandered  nice  young  nursery-maids.. 
Ding-dong,  ding-dong,  ding-ding-a-ring-ding, 
'The  bells  they  made  a  merry  merry  ring, 
Frcm  the  tall  tall  steeple  ;  and  all  the  people 
(Except  the  Jews)  came  and  filled  the  pews — 

Poles,  Russians  and  Germans,  The  poet  shows 

how  a  certain 

To  hear  the  sermons  priest  dwelt  at 

Whicn  Hyacinth  preached  to  those  Germans  and  ciergy'ma^°  and 

pQJgg  one  that  preached 

'  rare  good 

For  the  safety  of  their  souls.  sermons. 


A  worthy  priest  he  was  and  a  stout — 
You've  seldom  looked  on  such  a  one  ; 

For,  though  he  fasted  thrice  in  a  week, 

Yet  nevertheless  his  skin  was  sleek  ; 

His  waist  it  spanned  two  yards  about 
And  he  weighed  a  score  of  stone. 


How  this  priest 
was  short  and  fat 
of  body  ; 


A  worthy  priest  for  fasting  and  prayer 

And  mortification  most  deserving  ; 

And  as  for  preaching  beyond  compare, 

He'd  exert  his  powers  for  three  or  four  hours, 

With  greater  pith  than  Sydney  Smith 

Or  the  Reverend  Edward  Irving. 


And  like  unto  tbs 
author  of 
"  Plymley's 
Letters." 


He  was  the  prior  of  Saint  Sophia 

(A  Cockney  rhyme,  but  no  better  I  know)- 

Of  St.  Sophia,  that  Church  in  Kiow, 

Built  by  missionaries  I  can't  tell  when  ; 
Who  by  their  discussions  converted  the  Russians 

And  made  them  Christian  men. 


Of  what  convetit 
he  was  prior, 
and  when  the 
convent  was 
built. 


498 


THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC 


VI. 

Of  Saint  Sophia  Sainted  Sophia  (so  the  legend  vows) 

of  Kioff;  and       „,.  ,  .    ,   r  ,•  ,  ^     ,  •     , 

how  her  statue     With  special  lavor  did  regard  this  house  , 
"Iv^eHed"^  ^  And  to  Uphold  her  converts"  new  devotion 

ihither.  j^g^  statue  (needing  but  her  legs  for  her  ship) 

Walks  of  itself  across  the  German  Ocean  • 
And  of  a  sudden  perches 
In  this  the  best  of  churches, 
Whither  all  Kiovites  come  and  pay  it  grateful  worshipji 

VII. 

And  how  Kioff   Thus  with  her  patron-saints  and  pious  preachers 

should  have  '^ 

beena  happy 


city  ;  but  that 


Recorded  here  in  catalogue  precise, 
A  goodly  city,  worthy  magistrates, 
You  would  have  thought  in  all  the  Russian  states 
The  citizens  the  happiest  of  all  creatures, — 

The  town  itself  a  perfect  Paradise. 


Certain  wicked 
Cossacks  did 
l>esie£e  it. 


Murdering  the 
titiiens, 


Until  thejrap-eed 
to  pay  a  tribute 
yearly. 


No,  alas  !  this  well-built  city 

Was  in  a  perpetual  fidget ; 
For  the  Tartars,  without  pity. 

Did  remorselessly  besiege  it.      ' 

Tartars  fierce,  with  sword  and  sabres, 
Huns  and  Tuiks,  and  such  as  these, 

Envied  much  their  peaceful  neighbors 
By  the  blue  Borysthenes. 

Down  they  came,  these  ruthless  Russians, 
From  their  steppes,  and  woods,  and  fens, 

For  to  levy  contributions 
On  the  peaceful  citizens. 

Winter,  Summer,  Spring,  and  Autumn, 
Down  they  came  to  peaceful  Kioff, 

Killed  the  burghers  when  they  caught  'em. 
If  their  lives  they  would  not  buy  off. 

Till  the  city,  quite  confounded 

By  the  ravages  they  made. 
Humbly  witli  tlieir  chief  compounded, 

And  a  ye;uly  trihtite  paid. 


THE  GREA  T  COSSA  CK  EPIC. 


499 


Which  (because  their  courage  lax  was) 
They  discharged  while  they  were  able  . 

Tolerated  tlius  tlie  tax  was, 
Till  it  grew  intolerable, 

And  the  Calmuc  envoy  sent, 
As  before  to  take  their  dues  all, 

Got  to  his  astonishment, 
A  unanimous  refusal ! 

"  Men  of  Kioff !  "  thus  courageous 

Did  the  stout  lord-mayor  harangue  them, 

"Wherefore  pay  these  sneaking  wages 
To  the  hectoring  Russians  ?  hang  them.' 

"  Hark  !     1  hear  the  awful  cry  of 
Our  forefathers  in  their  graves  ; 

"  '  Fight,  ye  citizens  of  Kioff ! 
Kioff  was  not  made  for  slaves." 


How  they  paid 
the  tribute,  and 
then  suddenly 
refused  it, 


To  the  wonder 
of  the  Cossack 
envoy. 


Of  a  mighty  gal- 
lant speech 


That  the  lord 
mayor  made, 


"  All  too  long  have  ye  betrayed  her? 

Rouse,  ye  men  and  aldermen, 
Send  the  insolent  invader — 

Send  him  starving  back  again." 


Exhorting  the 
burghers  to  pay 
no  longer. 


IX. 

He  spoke  and  he  sat  down;  the  people  of  the  town.     Of  their  thankt 
Who  were  tired  with  a  brave  emulation,  resolves. 

flow  rose  with  one  accord,  and  voted  thanks  unto  the 
lord- 
Mayor  for  his  oration : 

The  envoy  they  dismissed,  never  placing  in  his  fist       They  dismiss  the 

„  ,  .       ,        ,  .,,.  envoy,  and  set 

So  much  as  a  smgle  shilling  ;  about  drilling. 

And  all  with  courage  fired,  as  his  lordship  he  desired, 
At  once  set  about  their  drillinof. 


Then  every  city  ward  established  a  guard.  Of  the  City 

Diurnal  and  nocturnal :  ^^^^^^^  ti^cor.^. 

Militia  volunteers,  light  dragoons,  and  bombardiers,  ^"^  bombardiers, 

'      *  '^  '  '  and  their  coni- 

With  an  alderman  for  Colonel.  nidULicrs. 


500 


THE  GREA  T  COSSACK  EPIC. 


There  was  muster  and  roll-calls,  and  repairing  city 
walls, 
And  filling  up  of  fosses  : 
Of  the  majors      Ano    the   captains   and   the    majors,   so  gallant  and 

and  captains, 

courageous, 
A-riding  about  on  their  bosses. 

The  fortifica-      To  be  guarded  at  all  hours  they  built  themselves  watch 

/ions  and 

artilhry.  towers. 

With  every  tower  a  man  on ; 
And  surely  and  secure,  each  from  out  his  embrasure, 
Looked  down  the  iron  cannon! 

A  battle-song  was  writ  for  the  theatre,  where  it 
Was  sung  with  vast  endrgy 
Of  the  conduct    And  rapturous  applause  ;  and  besides,  the  public  cause 

of  the  actors  1,11 

and  the  clergy.  Was  Supported  by  the  clergy. 

The  pretty  ladies'-maids  were  pinning  of  cockades, 

And  trying  on  of  sashes  ; 
And  dropping  gentle  tears,  while  their  lovers  bluster'd 
fierce. 

About  gun-shot  and  gashes  ; 

Of  the  ladies;     The  ladies  took  the  hint,  and  all  day  were  scraping 
lint. 
As  became  their  softer  genders  ; 
And  got  bandages- and  beds  for  the  limbs  and  for  the 
heads 
Of  the  city's  brave  defenders. 

The  men,  both  young  and  old,  felt  resolute  and  bold. 
And  panted  hot  for  glory  ; 
And,  finally,  of   Evcu  the  tailors  'gan  to  brag,  and  embroidered  oa 

the  taylors.  j.\     •     a    ^ 

'  their  flag, 

"AUT   WINCERE   AUT   MORI." 
X. 

Of  the  Cossack   Seeing  the  city's  resolute  condition, 
eliatf  m ;  The  Cossack  chief,  too  cunning  to  despise  it, 

Said  to  himself,  "  Not  having  ammunition 
Wherewith  to  batter  the  place  in  proper  form, 
Some  of  tliese  nights  I'll  carry  it  by  storm, 
And  sudden  escalade  it  or  surprise  it. 


And  the  bur- 
ghers' sillie 
viciorie. 


That  prisoners 
they  took, 


And  how  conceit- 
ed  they  were. 


THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC. 

"  Let's  see,  however,  if  the  cits  stand  firmish." 

He  rode  up  to  the  city  gates  ;  for  answers, 
Out  rushed  an  eager  troop  of  the  town  elite, 
And  straightway  did  begin  a  gallant  skirmish : 
The  Cossack  hereupon  did  sound  retreat, 

Leaving  the  victory  with  the  city  lancers. 

They  took  two  prisoners  and  as  many  horses. 

And  the  whole  town  grew  quickly  so  elate 
With  this  small  victory  of  their  virgin  forces. 
That  they  did  deem  their  privates  and  commanders 
So  many  Caesars,  Pompeys,  Alexanders, 

Napoleons,  or  Fredericks  the  Great. 

And  puffing  with  inordinate  conceit 

They  utterly  despised  these  Cossack  thieves* 

And  thought  the  ruffians  easier  to  beat 

Than  porters  carpets  think,  or  ushers  boys. 

Meanwhile,  a  sly  spectator  of  their  joys. 

The  Cossack  captain  giggled  in  his  sleeves 

*'  Whene'er  you  meet  yon  stupid  city  hogs  " 

(He  bade  liis  troops  precise  this  order  keep), 
"  Don't  stand  a  moment — run  away,  you  dogs  !  " 
'Twas  done  ;  and  when  they  met  the  town  battalions, 
The  Cossacks,  as  if  frightened  at  their  valiance, 
Turned  tail,  and  bolted  like  so  many  sheep. 

They  fled,  obedient  to  their  captain's  order  :  And  how  he 

And  now  this  bloodless  siege  a  month  had  lasted,  retreat*. ^ 

When,  viewing  the  country  round,  the  city  warder 
(Who,  like  a  faithful  weathercock,  did  perch 

Upon  the  steeple  of  St.  Sophy's  church), 

Sudden  his  trumpet  took,  and  a  mighty  blast  he 
blasted. 


501 


Of  the  Cossack 
chief, — his 
orders  ; 


His  voice  it  might  be  heard  through  all  the  streets 
(He  was  a  warder  wondrous  strong  in  lung), 

"Victory,  victory  !   the  foe  retreats !  " 

"  The  foe  retreats  ! "    each  cries  to  each  he  meets  ; 

"  The  foe  retreats  !  "  each  in  his  turn  repeats. 

Gods !  how  the  guns  did  roar,  and  how  the  joy- 
bells  runs; ! 


The  warder  prw» 
clayms  the  Cos- 
sacks' retreat, 
and  the  citie 
greatly  rejoyccs. 


502 


THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC. 


The  manner  of 
tlie  citie's  re- 
joycings, 


And  its  impiety, 


How  the  priest, 
Hyacinth 
waited  at 
church,  and 
nobody  came 
thither. 


Arming  in  haste  his  gallant  city  lancers, 

The  mayor,  to  learn  if  true  the  news  might  be, 

A  league  or  two  out  issued  with  his  prancers. 

The  Cossacks  (something  had  given  their  courage 
a  damper) 

Hastened  their  flight,  and  'gan  lilie  mad  to  scamper  : 
Blessed  be  all  the  saints,  Kiova  town  was  free ! 

XI. 

Now,  puffed  with  pride,  the  mayor  grew  vain. 

Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again  ; 

And  thrice   he  routed  all  his  foes,  and  thrice  he  slew 

the  slain. 
'Tis  true  he  might  amuse  himself  thus, 
And  not  be  very  murderous  ; 
For  as  of  those  who  to  death  were  done 
The  number  was  exactly  notte. 
His  lordship,  in  his  soul's  elation, 
Did  take  a  bloodless  recreation — 
Going  home  again,  he  did  ordain 
A  very  splendid  cold  collation 
For  the  magistrates  and  the  corporation; 
Likewise  a  grand  illumination. 
For  the  amusement  of  the  nation. 
That  night  the  theatres  were  free, 
The  conduits  they  ran  Malvoisie ; 
Each  house  that  night  did  beam  with  light 
And  sound  with  mirth  and  jollity  : 
But  shame,  O  shame  !  not  a  soul  in  the  town, 
Now  the  city  was  safe  and  the  Cossacks  flown, 
Ever  thought  of  the  bountiful  saint  by  whose  care 

The  town  had  been  rid  of  these  terrible  Turks- 
Said  even  a  prayer  to  that  patroness  fair. 

For  these  her  wondrous  works  ! 
Lord  Hyacinth  waited,  the  meekest  of  priors — 
He  waited  at  church  with  the  rest  of  his  friars  ; 
He  went  tliere  at  noon  and  he  waited  till  ten, 
Expecting  in  vain  the  lord-mayor  and  his  men. 

He  waited  and  waited  from  mid-day  to  dark ; 
But  in   vain — you  might  search  through  the  whole  of 
the  church, 


THE  GREA  T  COSSA  CK'  EPIC.  503 

Not  a  layman,  alas  !■  to  the  city's  disgrace, 

From  mid-day  to  dark  showed  his  nose  in  the  place. 

The  pew-woman,  organist,  beadle,  and  clerk, 
Kept  away  from  their  work,  and  were  dancing  like 

mad 
Away  in  the  streets  with  the  other  mad  people, 
Not  thinking  to  pray,  but  to  guzzle  and  tipple 

Wherever  the  drink  might  be  had. 


Xll. 

Amidst  this  din  and  revelry  throughout  the  city  roaring,  How  ^e  went 
The   silver  moon   rose  silendy,   and  high  in  heaven  themtoprayeK 

soarmg ; 
Prior  Hyacinth  was  fervently  upon  his  knees  adoring: 
'Towards  my  precious  patroness  this  conduct  sure, 

unfair  is  ; 
I  cannot  think,  I   must  confess,  what  keeps  the  dig- 
nitaries 
And   our  good    mayor    away,  unless  some  business 
them  contraries." 

He  puts  his  long  white   mantle  on  and  forth  the  prior 

sallies — 
(His  pious  thoughts  were  bent  upon  good  deeds  and 

not  on  malice); 
Heavens  !  how  the  banquet  lights  they  shone  about 

the  mayor's  palace ! 
About  the  hall  the  scullions  ran  with  meats  both  fresh  How  the 

grooms  and 

and  potted  ;  lackeys 


The  pages  came  with  cup  and  can,  all  for  the  guests 

allotted ; 
Ah,  how  they  jeered  that   good  fat  man  as  up   the 

stairs  he  trotted  ! 

He  entered  in   the  ante-rooms  where  sat  the  mayor's 

court  in ; 
He  found  a  pack  of  drunken  grooms  a-dicing  and  a- 

sporting ; 
The  horrid  wine  and  'bacco  fumes,  they  set  the  prior 

a-snortino; ! 


jeered  hinii 


504  THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC. 

The  prior  tliought  he'd  speak  about  their  sins  before 

he  went  hence, 
And  lustily  began  to  shout  of  sin  and  of  repentance  ; 
The  rogues  they  kicked  the  prior  out  before  he'd  done 

a  sentence ! 

And  having  got  no  portion  small  of  buffeting  and  tuss- 
ling, 

At  last  he  reached  the  banquet  hall,  where  sat  the 
mayor  a-guzzling. 

And  by  his  side  his  lady  tall  dressed  out  in  white  sprig 
muslin. 
And  the  mayor   Around  the  table  in  a  ring  the  guests  were  drinking 

mayoress,  and  Iip-j  w  • 

aldermen,  neavy  , 

being  tipsie,       They  drunk  the  church,  and  drunk  the  king,  and  the 

refused  to  go  ■'  ° 

to  church.  army  and  the  navy ; 

In  fact  they'd  toasted  everything.  The  prior  said,  "  God 
save  ye  !  " 

The  ma\'or  cried,  "  Bring  a  silver  cup — there's  one 
upon  the  beaufet  ; 

And,  Prior,  have  the  venison  up — it's  capital  rcchauffd. 

And  so,  Sir  Priest,  you've  come  to  sup  ?  And  pray 
you,  how's  Saint  Sophy  ?  " 

The  prior's  face  quite  red  was  grown,  with  horror  and 
with  anger; 

He  flung  the  proflEered  goblet  down — it  made  a  hid- 
eous clangor ; 

And  'gan  a-preaching  with  a  frown — he  was  a  fierce 
haranguer. 

He  tried  the    mayor   and  aldermen — they  all  set  up 

a-jeering  : 
He  tried   the   common-councilmen — they   too  began 

a-sneering: 
He  turned  towards  the  may'ress  then,  and  hoped  to  get 

a  hearing. 
He  knelt   and  seized   her  dinner-dress,  made   of  the 

muslin  snowy, 
"  To  church,  to  church,  my  sweet  mistress  !  "  he  cried  ; 

"  the  way  I'll  show  yc." 
Alas,  the  lady-mayoress  fell  back  as  drunk  as  Chloe  ! 


THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC.  505 

XIII. 
Out  from  this  dissolute  and  drunken  court  How  the  prior 

,,,,,,  J        .         ,•  .,,  .         J.  went  back  alona« 

Went  the  good  prior,  his  eyes  with  weeping  dim  : 
He  tried  the  people  of  a  meaner  sort — 
They  too,  alas,  were  bent  upon  their  sport, 

And  not  a  single  soul  would  follow  him  ! 
But  all  were  swigging  schnaps  and  guzzling  beer 

He  found  the  cits,  their  daughters,  sons,  and  spouses,. 
Spending  the  live-long  night  in  fierce  carouses  : 

Alas,  unthinking  of  the  danger  near  ! 
One  or  two  sentinels  the  ramparts  guarded. 

The  rest  were  sharing  in  the  general  feast : 
"  God  wot,  our  tipsy  town  is  poorly  warded  ; 

Sweet  Saint  Sophia  help  us  !  "  cried  the  priest 

Alone  he  entered  the  cathedral  gate, 

Careful  he  locked  the  mighty  oaken  door; 
Within  his  company  of  monks  did  wait, 

A  dozen  poor  old  pious  men — no  more. 

Oh,  but  it  grieved  the  gentle  prior  sore. 
To  think  of  those  lost  souls,  given  up  to  drink  and 
fate! 

The  mighty  outer  gate  well  barred  and  fast,  And  shut  himself 

*      •'  °  '  into  Saint 

The  poor  old  friars  stirred  their  poor  old  bones,        Sophia's  chapel 
And  pattering  swiftly  on  the  damp  cold  stones,         brethren. 

They  through  the  solitary  chancel  passed. 

The  chancel  walls  looked  black  and  dim  and  vast, 
And  rendered,  ghost-like,  melancholy  tones. 

Onwards  the  fathers  sped,  till  com.ng  nigh  a 

Small  iron^ate,  the  which  they  entered  quick  at. 
They  locked  and  double-locked  the  inner  wicket 

And  stood  within  the  chapel  of  Sophia. 

Vain  were  it  to  describe  this  sainted  place, 
Vain  to  describe  that  celebrated  trophy, 
The  venerable  statue  of  Saint  Sophy, 

Which  formed  its  chiefest  ornament  and  grace. 


Katinka. 


506  THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC.  » 

Here  the  good  prior,  his  personal  griefs  and  sorrows 
In  his  extreme  devotion  quickly  merging, 

At  once  began  to  pray  with  voice  sonorous  ; 

The  other  friars  joined  in  pious  chorus. 

And  passed  the  night  in  singing,  praying,  scourging, 
In  honor  of  Sophia,  that  sweet  virgin. 

XIV. 

Sne^eioff  and  Leaving  thus  the  pious  priest  in 

Humble  penitence  and  prayer, 
And  the  greedy  cits  a-feasting, 
Let  us  to  the  walls  repair. 

Walking  by  the  sentry-boxes, 
Underneath  the  silver  moon, 

Lo  !  the  sentry  boldly  cocks  his — 
Boldly  cocks  his  musketoon. 

Sneezoff  was  his  designation, 
Fair-haired  boy,  forever  pitied; 

For  to  take  his  cruel  station. 
He  but  now  Katinka  quitted. 

Poor  in  purse  were  both,  but  rich  in 
Tender  love's  delicious  plenties; 

She  a  damsel  of  the  kitchen. 
He  a  haberdasher's  'prentice. 

'Tinka,  maiden  tender-hearted, 

Was  dissolved  in  tearful  fits, 
On  that  fatal  night  she  parted 

From  her  darling,  fair-haired  Fritz. 

Warm  her  soldier  lad  she  wrapt  in 

Comforter  and  muffettee  ; 
Called  him  "  general  "  and  "  captain," 

Though  a  simple  private  he. 

"  On  your  bosom  wear  this  plaster, 
'Twill  defend  you  from  the  cold  ; 

In  your  pipe  smoke  this  canaster, 
Smuggled  'tis,  my  love,  and  old. 

"  All  the  night,  my  love,  I'll  miss  you." 
Thus  she  spoke  ;  and  from  the  door 


THE  GREA  T  COSSACK-  EPIC. 


507 


Fair-haired  Sneezoff  made  his  issue, 
To  return,  alas,  no  more. 

He  it  is  who  calmly  walks  his 
Walk  beneath  the  silver  moon ; 

He  it  is  who  boldly  cocks  his 
Detonating  musketoon. 

He  the  bland  canaster  puffing, 

As  upon  his  round  he  paces, 
Sudden  sees  a  ragamuffin 

Clambering  swiftly  up  the  glacis. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  exclaims  the  sentry ; 

*'  When  tlie  sun  has  once  gone  down 
No  one  ever  makes  an  entry 

Into  this  here  fortified  town  !  " 

Shouted  thus  the  watchful  Sneezoff; 

But,  ere  any  one  replied, 
Wretched  youth  !  he  fired  his  piece  off, 

Started,  staggered,  groaned  and  died  ! 


How  the  sentrit 

Sneezoff  was 
surprised  and 
slayn. 


Ah,  full  well  might  the  sentinel  cry,  "  Who  goes 
there  }  " 

But  echo  was  frightened  too  much  to  declare. 

Who  goes  there  ?  who  goes  there  ?  Can  any  one 
swear 

To  the  number  of  sands  sur  les  bo7'ds  de  la  7ner, 

Or  the  whiskers  of  D'Orsay  Count  down  to  a  hair.? 

As  well  might  you  tell  of  the  sands  the  amount. 

Or  number  each  hair  in  each  curl  of  the  Count, 

As  ever  proclaim  the  number  and  name 

Of  the  hundreds  and  thousands  that  up  the  wall  came  ! 

Down,  down  the  knaves  poured  with  fire  and  with 
sword  : 

There  were  thieves  from  the  Danube  and  rogues  from 
the  Don  ; 

There  were  Turks  and  Wallacks,  and  shouting  Cos- 
sacks ; 

Of  all  nations  and  regions,  and  tongues  and  religions — • 

Jew,  Christian,  Idolater,  Frank,  Mussulman: 

Ah,  a  horrible  sight  was  Kioff  that  night ! 


How  the  Cos- 
sacks rushed  in 
suddenly  and 
took  the  citie. 


Of  the  Cossaok 
troops, 


5o8 


And  of  their 
manner  of 
burning,  mur- 
dering, and 
ravisbing. 


How  they 
burned  the 
whole  citie 
down,  save  the 
church, 


Whereof  the 
bells  began  to 
ring. 


THE  GREA  T  COSSACK  EPIC. 

The  gates  were  all  taken — no  chance  e'en  of  flight ; 
And  with  torch  and  with  axe  the  bloody  Cossacks 
Went  hither  and  thither  a-hunting  in  packs : 
They  slashed  and  they  slew  both  Christian  and  lew- 
Women  and  children,  thy  slaughtered  them  too. 
Some,  saving  their  throats,  plunged  into  the  mOcV<j, 
Or  the  river — but  oh,  they  had  burned  all  the  bo*"  «  ! 

*  *  *  *  *  » 

But  here  let  us  pause — for  I  can't  pursue  further 
This  scene  of  rack,  ravishment,  ruin  and  murthef 
Too  well  did  the  cunning  old  Cossack  succeed! 
His  plan  of  attack  was  successful  indeed  ! 
The  night  was  his  own — the  town  it  was  gone  ; 
'Twas  a  heap  still  a-burning  of  timber  and  stone. 
One  building  alone  liad  escaped  from  the  fires, 
Saint  Sophy's  fair  church,  with  its  steeples  and  sp    ts. 

Calm,  stately,  and  white. 

It  stood  in  the  light; 
And  as  if  'twould  defy  all  the  conqueror's  power,- 

As  if  nought  had  occurred, 

Might  clearly  be  heard 
The  chimes  ringing  soberly  every  half-hour  ! 


XVI. 


How  the 

Cossack  chief 
bade  them 
bum  the 
church  too. 


How  they 
stormed  it ; 
andofHyacintn, 
his  anger 
thereat. 


The  city  was  defunct — silence  succeeded 

Unto  its  last  fierce  agonizing  yells; 
And  then  it  was  the  conqueror  first  heeded 

The  sound  of  these  calm  bells. 
Furious  towards  his  aides-de-camp  he  turns, 

And  (speaking  as  if  Byron's  works  he  knew) 
"  Villains  !  "  he  fiercely  cries,  "  the  city  burns, 

Why  n  t  the  temple  too  ? 
Burn  n  e  yon  church,  and  murder  all  within  ! 

The  Cossacks  thundered  at  the  outer  door; 
And  Father  Hyacinth,  who  heard  the  din, 
(And  thought  himself  and  brethren  in  distress, 
Deserted  by  their  lady  patroness) 

Did  to  her  statue  turn,  and  thus  his  woes  outpour. 


THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC.  509 

XVII. 

«  And  is  it  thus,  O  falsest  of  the  saints,  "i'sI'Tsophia 

Thou  hearest  our  complaints  ? 
Tell  me,  did  ever  my  attachment  falter 

To  serve  thy  altar  ? 
Was  not  thy  name,  ere  ever  I  did  sleep, 

The  last  upon  my  lip  ? 
Was  not  thy  name  the  very  first  that  broke 

From  me  when  I  awoke  ? 
Have  I  not  tried  with  fasting,  flogging,  penance, 

And  mortified  countenance 
For  to  find  favor,  Sophy,  in  thy  sight? 

And  !o  !  this  night. 
Forgetful  of  my  prayers,  and  thine  own  promise, 

Thou  turnest  from  us  ; 
Lettest  the  heathen  enter  in  our  cit}-, 

And,  without  pity, 
Murder  our  burghers,  seize  upon  their  spouses, 

Burn  down  their  houses  ! 
Is  such  a  breach  of  faith  to  be  endured  ? 

See  what  a  lurid 
Light  from  the  insolent  invader's  torches 

Shines  on  your  porches  ! 
E'en  now,  with  thundering  battering-ram  and  hammer 

And  hideous  clamor ; 
With  axemen,  swordsmen,  pikemen,  hillmen,  bowmen, 

The  conquering  foemen, 
O  Sophy !  beat  your  gate  about  your  ears, 

Alas  !  and  here's 
A  humble  company  of  pious  rr.en, 

Like  muttons  in  a  pen, 
Whose  souls  shall  quickly  from  their  bodies  be  thrusted 

Because  in  you  they  trusted. 
Do  you  not  know  the  Calmuc  chief's  desires — 

Kill  all  the  friars . 
And  you,  of  all  the  saints  most  false  and  fickle, 

Leave  us  in  this  abominable  pickle." 

"  Rash    HYACINTHUS  !  "  The  statue 

(Here,  to  the  astonishment  of  all  her  backers,  speaks; 


THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC. 


Bnt  is  inter- 
rupted by  the 
breaking  in  of 
the  Cossacks. 


Of  Hyacinth, 
bis  outrageous 
address  \ 


Saint  Sophy,  opening  wide  her  wooden  jaws, 
Like  to  a  pair  of  German  walnut-crackers, 
Began),  "  I  did  not  think  you  had  been  thus,— 

0  monk  of  little  faith  !     Is  it  because 
A  rascal  scum  of  filthy  Cossack  heathen 
Besiege  our  town,  that  you  distrust  in  ine^  then  ? 
Think'st  thou  that  I,  who  in  a  former  day 

Did  walk  across  the  Sea  of  Marmora 
(Not  mentioning,  for  shortness,  other  seas), — 
That  I,  who  skimmed  the  broad  Borysthenes, 
Without  so  much  as  wetting  of  my  toes. 
Am  frightened  at  a  set  of  men  like  those? 

1  have  a  mind  to  leave  you  to  your  fate  : 
Such  cowardice  as  this  my  scorn  inspires." 

Saint  Sophy  was  here 

Cut  short  in  her  words, — 
For  at  this  very  moment  in  tumbled  the  gate^ 
And  with  a  wild  cheer. 

And  a  clashing  of  swords. 
Swift  through  the  church  porches, 
With  a  waving  of  torches. 
And  a  shriek  and  a  yell 
Like  the  devils  of  hell. 
With  pike  and  with  axe 
In  rushed  the  Cossacks, — 
In  rushed  the  Cossacks,  crying,  "Murder  the 
friars! " 

Ah  !  what  a  thrill  felt  Hyacinth, 

When  he  heard  that  villanous  sliout  Calmuc  I 
Now,  thought  he,  my  trial  beginneth  ; 

Saints,  O  give  me  courage  and  pluck ! 
"  Courage,  boys,  'tis  useless  to  funk  !  '* 

Thus  unto  the  friars  he  began  : 
"  Never  let  it  be  said  that  a  monk 

Is  not  likewise  a  gentleman. 
Though  the  patron  saint  of  the  church, 

Spite  of  all  that  we've  done  and  we've  pra/d, 
Leaves  us  wickedly  here  in  the  lurch. 

Hang  it,  gentlemen,  who's  afraid  .-' 


THE  GREA  T  COSSACK  EFIC. 


511 


As  thus  the  gallant  Hyacinthus  spoke, 

He,  with  an  air  as  easy  and  as  free  as 
If  the  quick-coming  murder  were  a  joke. 
Folded  his  robes  around  his  sides,  and  took 
Place  under  sainted  Sophy's  legs  of  oak, 

Like  Czesar  at  the  statue  of  Pompeius. 
The  monks  no  leisure  had  about  to  look 
(Each  being  absorbed  in  his  particular  case), 
Else  had  they  seen  with  what  celestial  grace 
A  wooden  smile  stole  o'er  the  saint's  mahogany  face. 

"Well  done,  well  done,  Hyacinthus,  my  son  !  ** 

Thus  spoke  the  sainted  statue. 
*'  Though  you  doubted  me  in  the  hour  of  need, 
And  spoke  of  me  very  rude  indeed, 
You  deserve  good  luck  for  showing  such  pluck, 

And  I  wont  be  angry  at  you." 

The  monks  by-standing,  one  and  all. 
Of  this  wondrous  scene  beholders, 
To  this  kind  promise  listened  content, 
And  couldn't  contain  their  astonishment. 
When  Saint  Sophia  moved  and  went 
Down  from  her  wooden  pedestal, 
And  twisted  her  legs,  sure  as  eggs  is  eggs, 
Round  Hvacinthus's  shoulders  ! 


And  preparation 
for  dying. 


Saint  Sophia, 
her  speech. 


She  gets  on  the 
prior's  shoulder 
straddleback, 


**Ho!  forwards,"  cries  Sophy,  "there's  no  time  for     Andbidshim 

'  1     J '  run. 

waiting, 
The  Cossacks  are  breaking  the  very  last  gate  in: 
See  the  glare  of  their  torches  shmes  red  through  the 
grating; 
We've  still  the  back  door,  and  two  minutes  or  more. 

Now  boys,  now  or  never,  we  must  make  for  the  river, 

For  we  only  are  safe  on  the  opposite  shore. 
Run  swiftly  to-day,  lads,  if  ever  you  ran, — 
Put  out  your  best  leg,  Hyacinthus,  my  man ; 
And  I'll  lay  five  to  two  tliat  you  carry  us  through. 

Only  scamper  as  fast  as  you  can.' 


SI2  THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC. 


He  runn»th,       Away  went  the  priest  through  the  little  back  door, 
And  light  on  his  shoulders  the  image  he  bore  : 

The  honest  old  priest  was  not  punished  the  least, 
Though  the  image  was  eight  feet,  and  he  measured  four. 
Away  went  the  prior,  and  the  monks  at  his  tail 
Went  snorting,  and  puffing,  and  panting  full  sail ; 

And  juat  as  the  last  at  the  back  door  had  passed, 
In  furious  hunt  behold  at  the  front 
The  Tartars  so  fierce,  with  their  terrible  cheers  ; 
With  axes,  and  halberts,  and  muskets,  and  spears, 
With  torches  a-flaming  the  chapel  now  came  in. 
They   tore   up   the   mass-book,  they  stamped  on  the 

psalter, 
They  pulled  the  gold  crucifix  down  from  the  altar ; 
The  vestments  they  burned  with  their  blasphemous 

fires, 
And   many   cried,   "  Curse  on  them !  where  are   the 

friars?  " 
When  loaded  with  plunder,  yet  seeking  for  more, 
One    chanced  to  fling  open  the  little  back  door, 
Spied  out  the  friars'  white  robes  and  long  shadows 
In  the  moon,  scampering  over  the  meadows, 
And  stopped  the  Cossacks  in  the  midst  of  their  arsons, 
And  the  Tartars  By  crying  out  lustily,  "There  go  the  parsons  !  " 
With  a  whoop  and  a  yell,  and  a  scream  and  a  shout. 
At  once  the  whole  murderous  body  turned  out ; 
And  swift  as  the  hawk  pounces  down  on  the  pigeon, 
Pursued  the  poor  short-winded  men  of  religion. 

How  the  friars    When  the  sound  of  that  cheering  came  to  the  monks' 
Bweated  , 

Iiearmg, 

O  heaven  !  how  the  poor  fellows  panted  and  blew ! 

At  fighting  not  cunning,  unaccustomed  to  running. 

When  the  Tartars  came  up,  what  the  deuce  should 

they  do  .-' 

''They'll    make  us    all    martyrs,    those   blood-thirsty 

Tartars  ! '' 

Ouoth  iat  Father  Peter  to  fat  Father  Hugh. 


THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC.  513 

The  shouts  they   came   clearer,   the   foe   they  drew 

nearer : 
Oh,   how   the   bolts  whistled,  and   how   the   lights 

shone  I 
"  I  cannot  get  further,  this  running  is  murther; 

Come  carry  me,  some  one  ! "  cried  big  Father  John. 
And  even  the  statue  grew  frightened,  "  O  drat  you  !" 

It  cried,  "  Mr.  Prior,  I  wish  you'd  get  on  !  " 
On  tugged  the  good  friar,  but  niglffer  and  nigher 
Appeared  the  fierce  Russians,  with  sword  and  withfire. 
On  tugged  the  good  prior  at  Saint  Sophy's  desire, — 
A  scramble  through  bramble,  through  mud,  and  through 

mire. 
The  swift  arrows'  whizziness  causing  a  dizziness, 
Nigh  done  his  business,  fit  to  expire. 
Father  Hyacinth  tugged,  and  the  monks  they  tugged 

after  ; 
The  foemen  pursued  with  a  horrible  laughter, 
And  hurl'd  their  long  spears  round  the  poor  brethren's  p^^^^^^^ 

p„  j-o  pursuers  fixed 

'  arrows  into 

So  true,  that  next  day  in  the  coats  of  each  priest,  their  tayls. 

Though   never  a  wound  was  given,  there  were  found 

A  dozen  arrows  at  least. 

Now  the  chase  seemed  at  its  worst,  How,  at  the 

Prior  and  monks  were  fit  to  burst ; 

Scarce  you  knew  the  which  was  first, 
Or  pursuers  or  pursued  ; 

When  the  statue,  by  heaven's  grace 

Suddenly  did  change  the  face 

Of  this  interesting  race, 

As  a  saint,  sure,  only  could. 

For  as  the  jockey  who  at  Epsom  rides. 

When  that  his  steed  is  spent  and  punished  sore, 
Diggeth  his  heels  into  the  courser's  sides, 

And  thereby  makes  him   run  one  or  two  furlongs 

more ; 
Even  thus,  betwixt  the  eighth  rib  and  the  ninth, 
The  saint  rebuked  the  prior,  that  weary  creeper ; 
Fresh  strength  into  his  limhs^her  kicks  imparted. 

33 


last  gasp, 


514 


THE  GREAT  COSSACK  EPIC. 


The  friars  won      One  bound  he  made,  as  gay  as  when  he  started. 
Borysthenes  ^ts,  with  his  brethren  clinging  at  his  cloak, 

fluvius.  The  statue  on  his  shoulders — fit  to  choke — 

One  most  tremendous  bound  made  Hyacinth, 
And  soused  friars,  statue,  and  all,  slapdash  into  the 
Dnieper! 

XIX. 

And  how  the     And  when  the  Russians,  in  a  fiery  rank, 

Russians  saw         Panting  and  fier'ce,  drew  up  along  the  shore ; 

(For  here  the  vain  pursuing  they  forbore. 

Nor  cared  they' to  surpass  the  river's  bank.) 

Then  looking  from  the  rocks  and  rushes  dank, 

A  sight  they  witnessed  never  seen  before. 

And  which,  with  its  accompaniments  glorious, 

Is  writ  i'  the  golden  book,  or  Ijber  attreus. 

The  statue  get  Plump  in  the  Dnieper  flounced  the  friar  and  friends, — • 

off  Hyacinth  ,,         ,  ,,.  ,,/- 

his  back,  and         They  danglmg  round  his  neck,  he  fit  to  choke, 

sit  down  with        When  suddenly  his  most  miraculous  cloak 
the  friars  on  ,      ,  .,,  .       ,c  , 

Hyacinth  his      Over  the  billowy  waves  itselt  extends, 

cloak.  Down  from  his  shoulders  quietly  descends 

The  venerable  Sophy's  statue  of  oak  ; 

Which,  sitting  down  upon  the  cloak  so  ample, 

Bids  all  the  brethren  follow  its  example  ! 

How  in  this       Each  at  her  bidding  sat,  and  sat  at  ease  ; 

manner  of  boat        „,  ,  . 

they  sayled  ^he  statue  gan  a  gracious  conversation, 

away.  And  (waving  to  the  foe  a  salutation) 

Sail'd  with  her  wondering  happy  protdg^s 

Gayly  adown  the  wide  Borysthenes, 

Until  they  came  unto  some  friendly  nation. 

And  when  the  heathen  had  at  length  grown  shy  of 

Their  conquest,  she  one  day  came  back  again  to  Kioff 

XX. 

Finis,  or  the       ThINK    NOT,      O     READER,     THAT     AVE'RE   LAUGHING 
end. 

AT  YOU ; 

You  MAY  GO  TO  KlOF  NOW,  AND  SEE  THE  STATUE  1 


KING  CANUTE.  515 


KING   CANUTE. 

King  Canute  was  weary-hearted  ;  he  had  reigned  for  years  a  score 
Battling,  struggling,  pushing,  fighting,  killing    much  and  robbing 

more ; 
And  he  thought  upon  his  actions,  walking  by  the  wild  sea-shore. 

'Twixt  the  Chancellor  and  Bishop  walked  the   King  with  steps 

sedate, 
Chamberlains  and  grooms  came   after,  silversticks  and  goldsticks 

great, 
Chaplains,  aides-de-camp,  and  pages, — all  the  officers  of  state. 

Sliding  after  like  his  shadow,  pausing  when  he  chose  to  pause, 
If  a  frown  his  face  contracted,  straight  the  courtiers  dropped  their 

jaws  ; 
If  to  laugh  the  King  was  minded,  out  they  burst  in  loud  hee-haws. 

But  that  day  a  something  vexed  him,  that  was  clear  to  old  and 

young : 
Thrice  his  Grace  had  yawned  at  table,  when  his  favorite  gleemen 

sung, 
Once  the  Queen  would  have  consoled  him,  but  he  bade  her  hold 

her  tongue. 

"  Something  ails  my  gracious  master,"  cried  the  Keeper  of  the  Seal. 
"  Sure,  my  lord,  it  is  the  lampreys  served  to  dinner,  or  the  veal?  " 
"  Psha  !  "  exclaimed  the  angry  monarch.     "  Keeper, 'tis  not  that 
I  feel. 

"  'Tis  the  heart,  and  not  the  dinner,  fool,  that  doth  my  rest  impair : 
Can  a  king  be  great  as  I  am,  prithee,  and  yet  know  no  care .? 
Oh,  I'm  sick,  and  tired,  and  weary." — Some  one  cried,  "  The  King's 
arm-chair  I  " 

Then  towards    the   lackeys  turning,  quick  my  Lord  the    Keeper 

nodded, 
Straight  the  King's  great  chair  was  brought  him,  by  two  footmen 

able-bodied ; 
Languidly  he  sank  into  it ;  it  was  comfortably  wadded. 

27 


5i6  KING  CANUTE. 

"Leading  on  my  fierce  companions,"  cried  he,  "over  storm  and 

brine, 
I  have  fought  and  I  have  conquered  !     Where  was  glory  like  to 

mine  ?  " 
Loudly  all  the  courtiers  echoed :    "  Where  is  glory  like  to  thine  ?  " 

"What  avail  me  all  my  kingdoms  ?  Weary  am  I  now  and  old  ; 
Those  fair  sons  I  have  begotten,  long  to  see  me  dead  and  cold ; 
Would  I  were,  and  quiet  buried,  underneath  the  silent  mould  ! 

"  Oh,  remorse,  the  writhing  serpent  !  at  my  bosom  tears  and  bites ; 
Horrid,  horrid  things  I  look  on,  though  I  put  out  all  the  lights  ; 
Ghosts  of  ghastly  recollections  troop  about  my  bed  at  nights. 

"  Cities  burning,  convents  blazing,  red  with  sacrilegious  fires  ; 
Mothers  weeping,  virgins  screaming :  vainly  for  their  slaughtered 

sires." — 
"  Such  a  tender  conscience,"  cries  the  Bishop,  "  every  one  admires. 

"But  for  such  unpleasant  by-gones,  cease,  my  gracious  lord,  to 

search. 
They're  forgotten  and  forgiven  by  our  Holy  Mother  Church  • 
Never,  never  does  she  leave  her  benefactors  in  the  lurch. 

"  Look !  the  land  is  crowned  with  minsters,  which  your  Grace's 

bounty  raised  ; 
Abbeys  filled  with  holy  men,  where  you  and   Heaven  are  daily 

praised : 
Yoti,  my  lord,  to  think  of  dying?  on  my  conscience  I'm  amazed  ! " 

"  Nay,  I  feel,"  replied  King  Canute,  "  that  my  end  is  drawing  near." 
"  Don't  say  so,"  exclaimed  the  courtiers  (striving  each  to  squeeze 

a  tear). 
"  Sure  your  Grace  is  strong  and  lusty,  and  may  live  this  fifty  year." 

"  Live  these  fifty  years ! "  the  bishop  roared,  with  actions  made 

to  suit. 
"  Are  you  mad,  my  good  Lord   Keeper,  thus  to  speak  of  King 

Canute ! 
Men  have  lived  a  thousand  years,  and  sure  his  Majesty  will  do't. 

"  Adam,  Enoch,  Lamech,  Cainan,  Mahaleel,  Methusela, 

Lived  nine  hundred  years  apiece,  and  mayn't  the  King  as  well  as 

they?" 
"  Fervently,"  exclaimed  the  Keeper,  "  fervently  I  trust  he  may." 


FRIAR'S  SONG. 


517 


"He  to  die  ?  "  resumed  the  Bishop.     "  He  a  mortal  like  to  71s  f 
Death  was  not  for  him  intended,  though  comimiuis  o/Jinibus  : 
Keeper,  you  are  irreligious,  for  to  talk  and  cavil  thus. 

"With  his  wondrous  skill  in  healing  ne'er  a  doctor  can  compete. 
Loathsome  lepers,  if  he  touch  them,  start  up  clean  upon  their  feet; 
Surely  he  could  raise  the  deaol  up,  did  his  Highness  think  it  meet. 

"  Did  not  once  the  Jewish  captain  stay  the  sun  upon  the  hill, 
And,  the  while  he  slew  the  foemen,  bid  the  silver  moon  stand  still? 
So,  no  doubt,  could  gracious  Canute,  if  it  were  his  sacred  will." 

"  Might  I  stay  the  sun  above  us,  good  Sir  Bishop  ?  "  Canute  cried; 
"Could  I  bid  the  silver  moon  to  pause  upon  her  heavenly  ride? 
If  the  moon  obeys  my  orders,  sure  I  can  command  the  tide. 

"Will  the  advancing  waves  obey  me.  Bishop,  if  I  make  the  sign  ?  " 
Said  the  Bisliop,  bowing  lowly,  "  Land  and  sea,  my  lord,  are  thine." 
Canute  turned  towards  the  ocean — "  Back  I  "  he  said,   "  thou  foam- 
ing brine. 

"From  the  sacred  shore  I  stand  on,  I  command  thee  to  retreat, 
Venture  not,  thou  stormy  rebel,  to  approach  thy  master's  seat : 
Ocean,  be  thou  still !     I  bid  thee  come  not  nearer  to  my  feet !  " 

But  the  sullen  ocean  answered  with  a  louder,  deeper  roar, 

And  the  rapid  waves  drew  nearer,  falling  sounding  on  the  shore  ; 

Back  the  Keeper  and  the  Bishop,  back  the  King  and  courtiers  bore. 

And  he  sternly  bade  them  never  more  to  kneel  to  human  clay. 
But  alone  to  praise  and  worship  That  which  earth  and  seas  obey : 
And  his  golden  crown  of  empire  never  wore  he  from  that  day. 
King  Canute  is  dead  and  gone  :  Parasites  exist  alway. 


FRTAR'S    SONG. 

Some  love  the  matin-chimes,  which  tell 
The  hour  of  prayer  to  sinner  : 

But  better  far's  the  mid-day  bell, 
Which  speaks  the  hour  of  dinner ; 


£  1 8  OLD  FRIENDS  WITH  NE  W  FA  CES. 

For  when  I  see  a  smoking  fish, 
Or  capon  drown'd  in  gravy, 

Or  noble  haunch  on  silver  dish, 
Full  glad  I  sing  my  ave. 

My  pulpit  is  an  alehouse  bench, 

Whereon  I  sit  so  jolly  ; 
A  smiling  rosy  country  wench 

My  saint  and  patron  holy. 
I  kiss  her  cheek  so  red  and  sleek, 

I  press  her  ringlets  wavy, 
And  in  her  willing  ear  I  speak  ^ 

A  most  religious  ave. 

And  if  I'm  blind,  yet  heaven  is  kind, 

And  holy  saints  forgiving; 
For  sure  he  leads  a  right  good  life 

Who  thus  admires  good  living. 
Above,  they  say,  our  flesh  is  air. 

Our  blood  celestial  ichor  : 
Oh,  grant !  mid  all  the  changes  there. 

They  may  not  change  our  liquor ! 


ATRA    CUR  A. 

Before  I  lost  my  five  poor  wits, 

I  mind  me  of  a  Romish  clerk. 

Who  sang  how  Care,  the  phantom  dark. 

Beside  the  belted  horseman  sits. 

Methought  I  saw  the  grisly  sprite 

Jump  up  but  now  behind  my  Knight. 

And  though  he  gallop  as  he  may 
I  mark  that  cursed  monster  black 
Still  sits  behind  his  honor's  back, 
Tight  squeezing  of  his  heart  alway. 
Like  two  black  Templars  sit  they  there. 
Beside  one  crupper,  Knight  and  Care. 


REQUIESCAT.  519 

No  kniglit  am  I  with  pennoned  spear, 
To  prance  upon  a  bold  destrere  : 
I  will  not  have  black  Care  prevail 
Upon  my  long-eared  charger's  tail, 
For  lo,  I  am  a  witless  fool, 
And  laugh  at  Grief  and  ride  a  mule. 


REQUIESCAT, 

Under  the  stone  you  behold, 
Burind,  and  coffined,  and  cold, 
Lieth  Sir  Wilfrid  the  Bold. 

Always  he  marched  in  advance, 
Warring  in  Flanders  and  France, 
Doughty  with  sword  and  with  lance. 

Famous  in  Saracen  fight. 

Rode  in  his  youth  the  good  knight, 

Scattering  Paynims  in  flight. 

Brian  the  Templar  untrue. 
Fairly  in  tourney  he  slew, 
Saw  Hierusalem  too. 

Now  he  is  buried  and  gone, 
Lying  beneath  the  gray  stone  : 
Where  shall  you  find  such  a  one 

Long  time  his  widow  deplored. 
Weeping  the  fate  of  her  lord 
Sadly  cut  off  by  the  sword. 

When  she  was  eased  of  her  pain 
Came  the  good  Lord  Athelstane, 
When  her  ladyship  married  again. 


52  0  OLD  FRIENDS  WITH  NEW  FACES. 


LINES  UPON  MY  SISTER'S  PORTRAIT, 

BY   THE   LORD   SOUTHDOWN. 

The  castle  towers  of  Bareacres  are  fair  upon  the  lea, 

Where  the  cliffs  of  bonny  Diddlesex  rise  up  from  out  the  sea: 

I  stood  upon  the  donjon  keep  and  view'd  the  country  o'er, 

I  saw  the  lands  of  Bareacres  for  fifty  miles  or  more. 

I  stood  upon  the  donjon  keep — it  is  a  sacred  place, — 

Where  floated  for  eight  hundred  years  the  banner  of  my  race  ; 

Argent,  a  dexter  sinople,  and  gules  an  azure  field  : 

There  ne'er  was  nobler  cognizance  on  knightly  warrior's  shield. 

The  first  time  England  saw  the  shield  'twas  round  a  Norman  neck, 

On  board  a  ship  from  Valery,  King  William  was  on  deck. 

A  Norman  lance  the  colors  wore,  in  Hastings'  fatal  fray — 

St.  Willibald  for  Bareacres  !  'twas  double  gules  that  day  !  ♦ 

O  Heaven  and  sweet  St.  Willibald  !  in  many  a  battle  since 

A  loyal-hearted  Bareacres  has  ridden  by  his  Prince  ! 

At  Acre  with  Plantagenet,  with  Edward  at  Poictiers, 

The  Pennon  of  the  Bareacres  was  foremost  on  the  spears  ! 

'Twas  pleasant  in  the  battle-shock  to  hear  our  war-cry  ringing: 
Oh  grant  me,  sweet  St.  Willibald,  to  listen  to  such  singing! 
Three  nundred  steel-clad  gentlemen,  we  drove  the  foe  before  us. 
And  thirty  score  of  British  bows  kept  twanging  to  the  chorus  1 
O  knights,  my  noble  ancestors  !  and  shall  I  never  hear 
St.  Willibald  for  Bareacres  through  battle  ringing  clear? 
/~d  cut  me  off  this  strong  right  hand  a  single  hour  to  ride, 
And  strike  a  blow  for  Bareacres,  my  fathers,  at  your  side  1 

jDash  down,  dash  down,  yon  Mandolin,  beloved  sister  mine  I 
Those  biushi.ig  lips  may  never  sing  the  glories  of  our  line  ; 
Our  ancient  castles  echo  to  the  clumsy  feet  of  churls. 
The  spinning-jenny  houses  in  the  mansion  of  our  Earls. 
Sing  not,  sing  not,  my  Angeline  !  in  days  so  base  and  vile, 
'Twere  sinful  to  be  happy,  'twere  sacrilege  to  smile. 
I'll  hie  me  to  my  lonely  hall,  and  by  its  cheerless  hob 
J'll  muse  on  other  days,  and  wish — and  wish  I  were — A  Snob. 


TITMARSH'S   CARMEN   LILLIENSE. 


LiLLB,  Sept.  2,  1843. 


ify  heart  is  weary,  my  peace  is  gone. 
How  sliall  I  e'er  my  woes  reveal  t 

I  have  no  money,  I  lie  in  pawn, 
A  stranger  in  the  town  0/ Lille. 


With  twenty  pounds  but  three  weeks  since 
From  Paris  forth  did  Titmarsh  wheel, 

I  thought  myself  as  rich  a  prince 
As  beggar  poor  I'm  now  at  Lille. 

Confiding  in  my  ample  means — 

In  troth,  I  was  a  happy  chiel ! 
I  passed  the  gates  of  Valenciennes, 

I  never  thought  to  come  by  Lille, 

I  never  thought  my  twenty  pounds 

Some  rascal  knave  would  dare  to  steal ; 

I  gayly  passed  the  Belgic  bounds 

At  Quievrain,  twenty  miles  from  Lille. 

To  Antwerp  town  I  hasten'd  post, 
And  as  I  took  my  evening  meal 
I  felt  my  pouch, — my  purse  was  lost, 

0  Heaven  !     Why  came  I  not  by  Lille  ? 

I  straightway  called  for  ink  and  pen, 

To  grandmamma  I  made  appeal; 
Meanwhile  a  loan  of  guineas  ten 

1  borrowed  from  a  friend  so  leal. 


522 


TITMARSff'S  CARMEN  LILLIENSE. 

I  got  the  cash  from  grandmamma 
(Her  gentle  heart  my  woes  could  feel), 

But  where  I  went,  and  what  I  saw, 
What  matter  ?     Here  I  am  at  Lille. 

My  heart  is  weary,  my  peace  is  gone, 
How  shall  I  e'er  my  woes  reveal? 
have  no  cash,  I  lie  in  pawn, 
A  stranger  in  the  town  of  Lille. 

II. 
To  stealing  I  can  never  come, 

To  pawn  my  watch  I'm  too  genteel, 
Besides,  I  left  my  watch  at  home, 

How  could  I  pawn  it  then  at  Lille  ? 

**Zfl  note^''  at  times  the  guests  will  say. 

I  turn  as  white  as  cold  boil'd  veal; 
I  turn  and  look  another  way, 

/dare  not  ask  the  bill  at  Lille. 

I  dare  not  to  the  landlord  say, 

"  Good  sir,  I  cannot  pay  your  bill ; 

He  thinks  I  am  a  Lord  Anglais, 
And  is  quite  proud  I  stay  at  Lille. 

He  thinks  I  am  a  Lord  Anglais, 

Like  Rothschild  or  Sir  Robert  Peel, 

And  so  he  serves  me  every  day 

The  best  of  meat  and  drink  in  Lille. 

Yet  when  he  looks  me  in  the  face 

I  blush  as  red  as  cochineal ; 
And  think  did  he  but  know  my  case. 

How  changed  he'd  be,  my  host  of  Lille. 

My  heart  is  weary,  my  peace  is  gone. 
How  shall  I  e'er  my  woes  reveal.? 

I  have  no  money,  I  lie  in  pawn, 
A  stranger  in  the  town  of  Lille. 

III. 
The  sun  bursts  out  in  furious  blaze, 

I  perspirate  from  head  to  heel ; 
I'd  like  to  hire  a  one-horse  chaise. 

How  can  I,  without  cash  at  Lille. 


TITMARSH'S  CARMEN  LILLIENSE. 

I  pass  in  sunshine  burning  hot 
By  cafes  where  in  beer  they  deal : 

I  think  how  pleasant  were  a  pot, 
A  frothing  pot  of  beer  of  Lille  ! 

What  is  yon  house  with  walls  so  thick, 
All  girt  around  with  guard  and  grille  ? 

O  gracious  gods  !  it  makes  me  sick, 
It  is  Hn^  prison-house  of  Lille ! 

0  cursed  prison  strong  and  barred. 
It  does  my  very  blood  congeal! 

1  tremble  as  I  pass  the  guard, 
And  quit  that  ugly  part  of  Lille. 

The  church-door  beggar  whines  and  prays, 

1  turn  away  at  his  appeal : 
Ah,  church-door  beggar !  go  thy  ways  ! 

You  re  not  the  poorest  man  in  Lille. 

My  heart  is  weary,  my  peace  is  gone, 
How  shall  I  e'er  my  woes  reveal  ? 

I  have  no  money,  I  lie  in  pawn, 
A  stranger  in  the  town  of  Lille. 

IV. 

Say,  shall  I  to  yon  Flemish  church, 

And  at  a  Popish  altar  kneel  ? 
Oh,  do  not  leave  me  in  the  lurch, — 

111  cry,  ye  patron-saints  of  Lille ! 

Ye  virgins  dressed  in  satin  hoops. 
Ye  martyrs  slain  for  mortal  weal. 

Look  kindly  down  !  before  you  stoops 
The  miserablest  man  in  Lille. 

And  lo  !  as  I  beheld  with  awe 

A  pictured  saint  (I  swear  'tis  real), 

It  smiled,  and  turned  to  grandmamma!— 
It  did  I  and  I  had  hope  in  Lille  ! 

*Twas  five  o'clock,  and  I  could  eat, 
Although  1  could  not  pay  my  meal : 

I  hasten  back  into  the  street 
Where  lies  my  inn,  the  best  in  Lille. 
27* 


523 


52* 


THE  WILLOW-TREE. 

What  see  I  on  my  table  stand, — 

A  letter  with  a  well-known  seal  ? 
*Tis  grandmamma's  !     I  know  her  hand,— 

"  To  Mr.  A.  A.  Titraarsh,  Lille." 

I  feel  a  choking  in  my  throat, 

I  pant  and  stagger,  faint  and  reel ! 

It  is — it  is — a  ten-pound  note. 
And  I'm  no  more  in  pawn  at  Lille ! 

(He  goes  off  by  the  diligence  that  evening,  and  is  restored  to 
the  bosom  of  his  happy  family.] 


THE  WILLOW-TREE. 

Know  ye  the  willow-tree 

Whose  gray  leaves  quiver, 
Whispering  gloomily 

To  yon  pale  river ; 
Lady,  at  even-tide 

Wander  not  near  it. 
They  say  its  branches  hide 

A  sad,  lost  spirit ! 

Once  to  the  willow-tree 

A  maid  came  fearful. 
Pale  seemed  her  cheek  to  be. 

Her  blue  eye  tearful; 
Soon  as  she  saw  the  tree. 

Her  step  moved  fleeter. 
No  one  was  there — ah  me  ! 

No  one  to  meet  her  ! 

Quick  beat  her  heart  to  hear 

The  far  bell's  chime 
Toll  from  the  chapel-tower 

The  trysting  time : 
But  the  red  sun  went  down 

In  golden  flame. 
And  though  she  looked  round. 

Yet  no  one  came  ! 


THE  WILLOW-TREE. 

Presently  came  the  night, 

Sadly  to  greet  her, — 
Moon  in  her  silver  light, 

Stars  in  their  glitter ; 
Then  sank  the  moon  away 

Under  the  billow, 
Still  wept  the  maid  alone — 

There  by  the  willow  ! 

Through  the  long  darkness. 

By  the  stream  rolling 
Hour  after  hour  went  on 

Tolling  and  tolling. 
Long  was  the  darkness, 

Lonely  and  stilly ; 
Shrill  came  the  night-wind, 

Piercing  and  chilly. 

Shrill  blew  the  morning  breeze 

Biting  and  cold. 
Bleak  peers  the  gray  dawn 

Over  the  wold. 
Bleak  over  moor  and  stream 

Looks  the  gray  dawn ; 
Gray,  with  dishevelled  hair. 
Still  stands  the  willow  there — 

The  maid  is  gone  ! 

Dotnine,  Domine  / 

Sing  we  a  litany, — 
Sing  for  poor  maiden-hearts  broken  and  weary  j 

Domine,  Dotnifie  / 
Sing  we  a  litany, 

Wail  we  and  weep  we  a  wild  Miserere  / 


525 


526 


THE  WILLOW-TREE. 

THE  WILLOW-TREE, 

(another  version.) 

1. 
Long  by  the  willow-trees 

Vainly  they  sought  her, 
Wild  rang  the  mother's  screams 

O'er  the  gray  water  : 
"  Where  is  my  lovely  one  ? 

Where  is  my  daughter  ? 

11. 
**  Rouse  thee,  sir  constable — 

Rouse  thee  and  look  ; 
Fisherman,  bring  your  net, 

Boatman  your  hook, 
Beat  in  the  lily-beds. 

Dive  in  the  brook  ! " 

in. 

Vainly  the  constable 
Shouted  and  called  her; 

Vainly  the  fisherman 
Beat  the  green  alder, 

Vainly  he  flung  the  net. 
Never  it  hauled  her! 

IV. 

Mother  beside  the  fire 

Sat,  her  nightcap  in  : 
Father,  in  easy  chair, 

Gloomily  napping. 
When  at  the  window-sill 

Came  a  light  tapping  ! 

V. 

And  a  pale  countenance 

Looked  through  the  casement* 
Loud  beat  the  mother's  heart, 

Sick  with  amazement, 


THE  IVILLO IV- TREE. 

And  at  the  vision  wliich 
Came  to  surprise  her, 

Shrieked  in  an  agony — 
"  Lor  !  it's  Elizar ! " 

IV. 

Yes,  'twas  Eh'zabeth — 
Yes,  'twas  their  girl  ; 
Pale  was  her  cheek,  and  her 
Hair  out  of  curl. 
**  Mother !  "  thy  loving  one, 

Blushing  exclaimed, 
"Let  not  \our  innocent 
Lizzy  be  blamed. 


Yesterday,  going  to  aunt 

Jones's  to  tea. 
Mother,  dear  mother,  I 

/  'orgot  the  door  key  ! 
And  as  the  night  was  cold. 

And  the  way  steep, 
Mrs.  Jones  kept  me  to 

Breakfast  and  sleep." 

VIII. 

Whether  her  Pa  and  Ma 

Fully  believed  her, 
That  we  shall  never  know, 

Stern  they  received  her; 
And  for  the  work  of  that 

Cruel,  though  short,  night, 
Sent  her  to  bed  without 

Tea  for  a  fortnight. 

IX. 

MORAL. 

Hey  diddle  diddle/y, 

Cat  and  the  Fiddlety, 
Maidens  of  England  take  caution  by  she  / 

Let  love  and  suicide 

Never  tempt  you  aside, 
And  always  remember  to  take  the  door-key. 


sn 


LYRA  HIBERNICA. 

THE  POEMS  OF  THE  MOLONY  OF  KILBALLYMOLONY. 


LYRA  HIBERNICA. 

THE  POEMS  OF  THE  MOLONY  OF   KILBALLYMOLONY. 


THE  FIMLICO  FA  VILION. 

Ye  pathrons  of  janius,  Minerva  and  Vanius, 
Who  sit  on  Parnassus,  that  mountain  of  snow, 

Descind  from  your  station  and  make  observation 
Of  the  Prince's  pavilion  in  sweet  Pimlico. 

This  garden,  by  jakurs,  is  forty  poor  acres, 

(The  garner  he  tould  me,  and  sure  ought  to  know;) 

And  yet  greatly  bigger,  in  size  and  in  figure, 

Than  the  Phanix  itself,  seems  the  Park  Pimlico. 

O  'tis  there  that  the  spoort  is,  when  the  Queen  and  the  Court  is 

Walking  magnanimous  all  of  a  row. 
Forgetful  what  state  is  among  the  pataties 

And  the  pine-apple  gardens  of  sweet  Pimlico. 

There  in  blossoms  odorous  the  birds  sing  a  chorus, 
Of  "God  save  the  Queen  "  as  they  hop  to  and  fro  ; 

And  you  sit  on  the  binchcs  and  hark  to  the  finches, 
Singing  melodious  in  sweet  Pimlico. 

There  shuiting  their  phanthasies,  they  pluck  polyanthuses 
That  round  in  the  gardens  resplindcntly  grow, 

Wid  roses  and  jes.simins,  and  other  sweet  specimins, 
Would  charm  bould  Linnayus  in  sweet  Pimlico. 

C53>) 


532 


LYRA  FITBERNICA. 


You  see  when  you  inther,  and  stand  in  the  cinther. 
Where  the  roses,  and  necturns,  and  collyflowers  blow, 

A  hill  so  tremindous,  it  tops  the  top-windows 
Of  the  elegant  houses  of  famed  Pimlico. 

And  when  you've  ascinded  that  precipice  splindid 
You  see  on  its  summit  a  wondtherful  show — 

A  lovely  Swish  building,  all  painting  and  gilding, 
The  famous  Pavilion  of  sweet  Pimlico. 

Prince  Albert,  of  Flandthers,  that  Prince  of  Commandthers, 
(On  whom  my  best  blessings  hereby  I  bestow), 

With  goold  and  vermilion  has  decked  that  Pavilion, 
Where  the  Queen  may  take  tay  in  her  sweet  Pimlico. 

There's  lines  from  John  Milton  the  chamber  all  gilt  on, 
And  pictures  beneath  them  that's  shaped  like  a  bow ; 

I  was  greatly  astounded  to  think  that  that  Roundhead 
Should  find  an  admission  to  famed  Pimlico. 

0  lovely's  each  fresco,  and  most  picturesque  O ; 
And  while  round  the  chamber  astonished  I  go, 

1  think  Dan  Maclise's  it  bails  all  the  pieces 
Surrounding  the  cottage  of  famed  Pimlico. 

Eastlake  has  the  chimney  (a  good  one  to  limn  he), 
And  a  vargin  he  paints  with  a  sarpint  below ; 

"While  bulls,  pigs,  and  panthers,  and  other  enchanthers, 
Are  painted  by  Landseer  in  sweet  Pimlico. 

And  nature  smiles  opposite,  Stanfield  he  copies  it ; 

O'er  Claude  or  Poussang  sure  'tis  he  that  may  crow: 
But  Sir  Ross's  best  faiture  is  small  mini-Ature — 

He  shouldn't  paint  frescoes  in  famed  Pimlico. 

There's  Leslie  and  Uwins  has  rather  small  doings; 

There's  Dyce,  as  brave  masther  as  England  can  show ; 
And  the  flowers  and  the  sthrawberries,  sure  he  no  dauber  is. 

That  painted  the  panels  of  famed  Pimlico. 

In  the  pictures  from  Walther  Scott,  never  a  fault  there's  got» 
Sure  the  marble's  as  natural  as  thrue  Scaglio  ; 

And  the  Chamber  Pompayen  is  sweet  to  take  tay  in. 
And  ait  butther'd  muffins  in  sweet  Pimlico. 


THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE. 

There's  landscapes  by  Gruner,  both  solar  and  lunar, 
Them  two  little  Doyles  too,  deserve  a  bravo ; 

Wid  de  piece  by  young  Townsend  (for  janius  abounds  in't); 
And  that's  why  he's  shuited  to  paint  Pimlico. 

That  picture  of  Severn's  is  worthy  of  rever'nce, 

But  some  I  won't  mintion  is  rather  so  so; 
For  sweet  philoso'phy,  or  crumpets  and  coffee, 

O  Where's  a  Pavilion  like  sweet  Pimlico  ? 

O  to  praise  this  Pavilion  would  puzzle  Quintilian, 
Daymostheneo,  Brougham,  or  young  Cicero  ; 

So  heavenly  Goddess,  d'ye  pardon  my  modesty, 
And  silence,  my  lyre !  about  sweet  Pimlico. 


533 


THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE. 

With  ganial  foire 

Thransfuse  me  loyre, 
Ye  sacred  nympths  of  Pindus, 

The  whoile  I  sing 

That  wondthrous  thing, 
The  Palace  made  o'  windows ! 

Say,  Paxton,  truth, 

Thou  wondthrous  youth. 
What  schroke  of  art  celislial, 

Whac  power  was  lint 

You  to  invint 
This  combineetion  cristial. 

O  would  before 

That  Thomas  Moore, 
Likewoise  the  late  Lord  Boyron, 

Thim  aigles  sthrong 

Of  godlike  song. 
Cast  oi  on  that  cast  oiron  ! 


534  LYRA  HIBERNICA. 

And  saw  thim  walls, 

And  glittering  halls, 
Thim  rising  slendther  columns. 

Which  I  poor  pote, 

Could  not  denote, 
No,  not  in  twinty  vollums. 

My  Muse's  words 

Is  like  the  bird's 
That  roosts  beneath  the  panes  there; 

Her  wings  she  spoils 

'Gainst  them  bright  toiles, 
And  cracks  her  silly  brains  there. 

This  Palace  tall 

This  Cristial  Hall, 
Which  Imperors  might  covet. 

Stands  in  High  Park 

Like  Noah's  Ark, 
A  rainbow  bint  above  it. 

The  towers  and  fanes, 

In  other  scaynes, 
The  fame  of  this  will  undo. 

Saint  Paul's  big  doom, 

Saint  Payther's  Room, 
And  Dublin's  proud  Rotundo. 

'Tis  here  that  roams, 

As  well  becomes 
Her  dignitee  and  stations, 

Victoria  Great, 

And  houlds  in  state 
The  Congress  of  the  Nations. 

Her  subjects  pours 

From  distant  shores, 
Her  Injians  and  Canajians  •, 

And  also  we, 

Her  kingdoms  three, 
Attind  with  our  allasianca. 


THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE.  535 

Here  come  likewise 

Her  bould  allies, 
Both  Asian  and  Europian  , 

From  East  and  West 

They  send  their  best 
To  fill  her  Coornucopean. 

I  seen  (thank  Grace  !) 

This  wondthrous  place 
(His  Noble  Honor  Misther 

H.  Cole  it  was 

That  gave  the  pass, 
And  let  me  see  what  is  there). 

With  conscious  proide 

I  stud  insoide 
And  look'd  the  World's  Great  Fair  in, 
Until  me  sight 

Was  dazzled  quite, 
And  couldn't  see  for  staring. 

There's  holy  saints 

And  window  paints, 
By  Maydiayval  Pugin ; 

Alhamborough  Jones 

Did  paint  the  tones 
Of  yellow  and  gambouge  in. 

There's  fountains  there 

And  crosses  fair ; 
There's  water-gods  with  urrns  : 

There's  organs  three. 

To  play,  d'ye  see  ? 
"  God  save  the  Queen,"  by  turrns. 

There's  Statues  bright 

Of  marble  white. 
Of  silver,  and  of  copper ; 

And  some  in  zinc, 

And  sonie,  I  think, 
That  isn't  over  proper. 


536  LYRA  HIBERNICA. 

There's  staym  Ingynes 

That  stands  in  lines, 
Enormous  and  amazing, 

That  squeal  and  snort 

Like  whales  in  sport. 
Or  elephants  a-grazing. 

There's  carts  and  gigs, 

And  pins  for  pigs, 
There's  dibblers  and  there's  harrows, 

And  ploughs  like  toys 

For  little  boys, 
And  ilegant  wheel-barrows. 


For  thim  genteels 

Who  ride  on  wheels. 
There's  plenty  to  indulge  'em : 

There's  Droskys  snug 

From  Paytersbug, 
And  vayhycles  from  Bulgium. 

There's  Cabs  on  Stands 

And  Shandthry  danns  ; 
There's  Wagons  from  New  York  here ; 

There's  Lapland  Sleighs 

Have  cross'd  the  seas, 
And  Jaunting  Cyars  from  Cork  here. 

Amazed  I  pass 

From  glass  to  glass, 
Deolighted  I  survey  'em; 

Fresh  wondthers  grows 

Before  me  nose 
In  this  sublime  Musayum ! 

Look,  here's  a  fan 

From  far  Japan, 
A  sabre  from  Damasco : 

There's  shawls  ye  get 

From  far  Thibet, 
And  cotton  prints  from  Glasgow. 


THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE.  53^ 

There's  German  flutes, 

Marocky  boots, 
And  Naples  Macaronies; 

Bohaymia 

Has  sent  Bohay ; 
Polonia  her  polonies. 

There's  granite  flints 

That's  quite  imminse, 
There's  sacks  of  coals  and  fuels, 

There's  swords  and  guns, 

And  soap  in  tuns, 
And  Ginger-bread  and  Jewels. 

There's  taypots  there, 

And  cannons  rare ; 
There's  coffins  fill'd  with  roses  ; 

There's  canvas  tints 

Teeth  insthrumints, 
And  shuits  of  clothes  by  Moses. 

There's  lashins  more 

Of  things  in  store, 
But  thim  I  don't  remimber; 

Nor  could  disclose 

Did  I  compose 
From  May  time  to  Novimber! 

Ah,  Judy  thru ! 

With  eyes  so  blue. 
That  you  were  here  to  view  it  1 

And  could  I  screw 

But  tu  pound  tu, 
'Tis  I  would  thrait  you  to  it ! 

So  let  us  raise 

Victoria's  praise. 
And  Albert's  proud  condition, 

That  takes  his  ayse 

As  he  surveys 
This  Cristial  Exhibition. 


1851. 


538  LYRA  IIIBERNICA. 


MOLONY'S  LAMENT. 

0  Tim,  did  you  hear  of  thim  Saxons, 
And  read  what  the  peepers  report  ? 

They're  goan  to  recall  the  Liftinant, 

And  shut  up  the  Castle  and  Coort ! 
Our  desolate  counthry  of  Oireland, 

They're  bint,  the  blagyards,  to  desthroy, 
And  now  having  murdthered  our  counthry, 

They're  goin  to  kill  the  Viceroy, 
Dear  boy ; 

'Twas  he  was  our  proide  and  our  joy ! 

And  will  we  no  longer  behould  him, 
Surrounding  his  carriage  in  throngs, 

As  he  weaves  his  cocked-hat  from  the  windies, 
And  smiles  to  his  bould  aid-de-congs  ? 

1  liked  for  to  see  the  young  haroes, 

All  shoining  with  sthripes  and  with  stars, 
A  horsing  about  in  the  Phaynix, 
And  winking  the  girls  in  the  cyars. 

Like  Mars, 
A  smokin'  their  poipes  and  cigyars. 

Dear  Mitchell  exoiled  to  Bermudies, 

Your  beautiful  oilids  you'll  ope. 
And  there'll  be  an  abondance  of  croyin' 

From  O'Brine  at  the  Keep  of  Good  Hope, 
When  they  read  of  this  news  in  the  peepers, 

Acrass  the  Atlantical  wave. 
That  the  last  of  the  Oirish  Liftinints 

Of  the  oisland  of  Seents  has  tuck  lave. 
God  save 

The  Queen — she  should  betther  behave. 

And  what's  to  become  of  poor  Dame  Sthreet, 
And  who'll  ait  the  puffs  and  the  tarts, 

Whin  the  Coort  of  imparial  splindor 
From  Doblin's  sad  city  departs  ? 


MO LO NY'S  LAMENT,  535 

And  who'll  have  the  fiddlers  and  pipers, 
When  the  deuce  of  a  Coort  there  remains? 

And  where'll  be  the  bucks  and  the  ladies, 
To  hire  the  Coort-shuits  and  the  thrains? 
In  sthrains, 

It's  thus  that  ould  Erin  complains  ! 


There's  Counsellor  Flanagan's  leedy 

'Tvvas  she  in  the  Coort  didn't  fail, 
And  she  wanted  a  plinty  of  popplin, 

For  her  dthress,  and  her  flounce,  and  her  tail ; 
She  bought  it  of  Misthress  O'Grady, 

Eight  shillings  a  yard  tabinet, 
But  rjow  that  the  Coort  is  concluded, 

The  divvle  a  yard  will  she  get ; 
I  bet, 

Bedad,  that  she  wears  the  old  set. 


There's  Surgeon  O'Toole  and  Miss  Leary, 

They'd  da3lings  with  Madam  O'Riggs'; 
Each  year  at  the  dthrawing-room  sayson. 

They  mounted  the  neatest  of  wigs. 
When  Spring,  with  its  buds  and  its  dasies. 

Comes  out  in  her  heauty  and  bloom, 
Thim  tu'll  never  think  of  new  jasies, 

Becase  there  is  no  dthrawing-room, 
For  whom 

They'd  choose  the  expense  to  ashuma. 


There's  Alderman  Toad  and  his  lady, 

'Twas  they  gave  the  Clart  and  the  Poort, 
And  the  poine-apples,  turbots,  and  lobsters, 

To  feast  the  Lord  Liftinint's  Coort. 
But  now  that  the  quality's  goin, 

I  warnt  that  the  aiting  will  stop, 
And  you'll  get  at  the  Alderman's  teeble 

The  devil  a  bite  or  a  dthrop, 
Or  chop ; 

And  the  butcher  may  shut  up  his  shop. 
2S 


540 


L  YRA  JIIBERNICA 

Yes,  the  grooms  and  the  ushers  are  goin, 

And  his  Lordship,  the  dear  honest  man. 
And  the  Duchess,  his  eemiable  leedy, 

And  Corry,  the  bould  Connellan, 
And  little  Lord  Hyde  and  the  childthren, 

And  the  Chewter  and  Governess  tu,; 
And  the  servants  are  packing  their  boxes,- 

Oh,  murther,  but  what  shall  I  due 
Without  you  ? 

O  Meery,  with  ois  of  the  blue 


MR.  MOLONY'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THl.   /SJLL 

GIVEN   TO    THE    NEPAULESE    AMBASSADOR   BY   THE     PENINSULAK 
AND   ORIENTAL   COMPANY. 

O  WILL  ye  choose  to  hear  the  news 

Bedad  I  cannot  pass  it  o'er : 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  the  Ball 

To  the  Naypaulase  Ambassador. 
Begor  !  this  fete  all  balls  does  bate 

At  which  I've  worn  a  pump,  and  I 
Must  here  relate  the  splendthor  great 

Of  til'  Oriental  Company. 

These  men  of  sinse  dispoised  expinse, 

To  ft'te  these  black  Achilleses. 
**  We'll  show  the  blacks,''  says  they,  "  Almack'a 

"  And  take  the  rooms  at  Willis's." 
With  flags  and  shawls,  for  these  Nepauls, 

They  hung  the  rooms  of  Willis  up, 
And  decked  the  wal.s,  and  stairs,  and  halls. 

With  roses  and  with  lilies  up. 

And  Jullien's  band  it  tuck  its  stand, 

So  sweetly  in  the  middle  there. 
And  soft  bassoons  played  heavenly  chuaes 

And  vioHns  did  fiddle  there. 


MR.  MOLONVS  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  BALL,         541 

And  when  the  Coort  was  tired  of  spoort, 

I'd  lave  you,  boys,  to  think  there  was 
A  nate  buffet  before  them  set. 

Where  lashins  of  good  dhrink  there  was. 

At  ten  before  the  ball-room  door, 

His  moiglity  Excellency  was. 
He  smoiled  and  bowed  to  all  the  crowd. 

So  gorgeous  and  immense  he  was. 
His  dusky  shuit,  sul)lime  and  mute, 

Into  the  door-way  followed  him  ; 
And  O  the  noise  of  the  blackguard  boys. 

As  they  hurrood  and  hollowed  him  I 

The  noble  Chair  *  stud  at  the  stair, 

And  bade  the  dthrums  to  thump;  and  he 
Did  thus  evince,  to  that  Black  Prince. 

The  welcome  of  his  Company. 
O  fair  the  girls,  and  rich  the  curls, 

And  bright  the  oys  you  saw  there,  was; 
And  fixed  each  oye,  ye  there  could  spoi. 

On  Gineral  Jung  Bahawther,  was  ! 

This  Gineral  great  then  tuck  his  sate. 

With  all  tlie  other  ginerals, 
(Bedad  his  troat,  his  belt,  his  coat, 

All  bleezed  with  precious  minerals  ; 
And  as  he  there,  with  princely  air, 

Recloinin  on  his  cushion  was. 
All  round  about  his  royal  chair 

The  squeezin  and  the  pushin  was. 

O  Pat,  such  girls,  such  Jukes,  and  Earls, 

Such  fashion  and  nobilitee! 
Just  think  of  Tim,  and  fancy  him 

Amidst  the  hoigh  gentilitee  ! 
There  was  Lord  De  L'Huys,  and  the  Portygeese 

Ministher  and  his  lady  there. 
And  I  reckonized,  with  much  surprise, 

Our  messmate,  Bob  O'Grady,  there  ; 

•James  Matheson,  Esq.,  to  whom,  and  the  B(  jrd  of  Directors  of  the  Peninsular  and 
Oriental  Company,  I,  Timotheus  Molony,  lati;  stoker  on  board  the  "  Iberia,"  the  "  Lady 
Mary  Wood,"  the  "  Tagus,"  and  the  Oriental  steamships,  humbly  dedicate  this  produc 
tion  of  my  grateful  muse. 


542 


LYRA  HIBERNICA. 

There  was  Baroness  Brunow,  tliat  looked  like  Juno, 

And  Baroness  Rehausen  there, 
And  Countess  Roulher,  that  looked  peculiar 

Well,  in  her  robes  of  gauze  in  there. 
There  was  Lord  Crowhurst  (I  knew  him  first 

When  only  Mr.  Pips  he  was), 
And  Mick  O'Toole,  the  great  big  fool, 

That  after  supper  tipsy  was. 

There  was  Lord  Fingall,  and  his  ladies  all, 

And  Lords  Killeen  and  Dufferin, 
And  Paddy  Fife,  with  his  fat  wife  ; 

I  wondther  how  he  could  stuff  her  in. 
There  was  Lord  Belfast,  that  by  me  past, 

And  seemed  to  ask  how  should  /go  there  ? 
And  the  Widow  Macrae,  and  Lord  A.  Hay, 

And  the  Marchioness  of  Sligo  there. 

Yes,  Jukes,  and  Earls,  and  diamonds,  and  pearls. 

And  pretty  girls,  was  spoorting  there  ; 
And  some  beside  (the  rogues !)  I  spied. 

Behind  the  windles,  coorting  there. 
O,  there's  one  I  know,  bedad  would  show 

As  beautiful  as  any  there, 
And  I'd  like  to  hear  the  pipers  blow, 

And  shake  a  fat  with  Fanny  there. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LIMERICK. 

Ye  Genii  of  the  nation, 

Who  look  with  veneration. 
And  Ireland's  desolation  onsaysingly  deplore; 

Ye  sons  of  General  Jackson, 

Who  thrample  on  the  Saxon, 
Attend  to  the  thransaction  upon  Shannon  shoret 


THE  BA  TTLE  OF  LFMERICK.  543 

When  William,  Duke  of  Schumbug, 

A  tyrant  and  a  humbug, 
With  cannon  and  with  thunder  on  our  city  bore, 

Our  fortitude  and  valliance 

Insthructed  his  battalions 
To  rispict  the  galliant  Irish  upon  Shannon  shore. 

Since  that  capitulation, 
No  city  in  this  nation 
So  grand  a  reputation  could  boast  before, 
As  Limerick  prodigious, 
That  stands  with  quays  and  bridges. 
And  ships  up  to  the  windies  of  the  Shannon  shore. 

A  chief  of  ancient  line, 
'Tis  William  Smith  O'Brine 
Reprisints  this  darling  Limerick,  this  ten  years  or  more : 
O  the  Saxons  can't  endure 
To  see  him  on  the  flure. 
And  thrimble  at  the  Cicero  from  Shannon  shore  j 

This  valliant  son  of  Mars 

Had  been  to  visit  Par's, 
That  land  of  Revolution,  that  grows  the  tricolor; 

And  to  welcome  his  return 

From  pil<:rimages  furren, 
We  invited  him  to  tay  on  the  Shannon  shore. 

Then  we  summoned  to  our  board 

Young  Meagher  of  the  sword  : 
'Tis  he  will  sheathe  that  battle-axe  in  Saxon  gore  ; 

And  Mitchil  of  Belfast 

We  bade  to  our  repast, 
To  dthrink  a  dish  of  ct.ffee  on  the  Shannon  shore. 

Convaniently  to  hould 

These  patriots  so  bould, 
We  took  tlie  opportunity  of  Tim  Doolan's  store ; 

And  with  ornamints  and  banners 

(As  tecomes  gintale  good  manners) 
We  made  the  loveliest  tay-room  upon  Shannon  shore. 


544 


LVRA  niBERNICA. 

'T would  binifit  your  sovvls, 
To  see  the  butthered  rowls, 
The  sug;:i;-  tongs  and  sangwidges  andcraim  galyore, 
And  the  muffins  and  the  crumpets, 
And  the  band  of  harps  and  thrumpets, 
To  celebrate  the  sworry  upon  Shannon  shore. 

Sure  the  Imperor  of  Bohay 

Would  be  proud  to  dthrink  the  tay 
That  Mistnress  Biddy  Rooney  for  O'Brine  did  pour; 

And,  since  the  days  of  Strongbow, 

There  never  was  such  Congo — 
Mitchil  dthrank  six  quarts  of  it — by  Shannon  shore. 

But  Clarnxlon  and  Corry 

Connellan  beheld  this  sworry 
With  rage  and  imulation  in  their  black  hearts'  core; 

And  they  hired  a  gang  of  ruffins 

To  interrupt  the  muffins, 
And  the  fragrance  oi  the  Congo  on  the  Shannon  shore. 

When  full  of  tay  and  cake 

O'Brine  began  to  spake; 
But  juice  a  one  could  hear  him,  for  a  sudden  roar 

Of  a  ragamuffin  rout 

Began  to  yell  and  shout, 
And  frighten  the  propriety  of  Shannon  shore. 

As  Smith  O'Brine  harangued, 
They  batthered  and  they  banged  : 

Tim  Doolan's  doors  and  windies  down  they  tore; 
They  smashed  the  lovely  windies 
(Hung  with  muslin  from  the  Indies), 

Purshuing  of  their  shindies  upon  Shannon  shore. 

With  throwing  of  brickbats, 

Drowned  puppies  and  dead  rats, 
These  ruffin  democrats  themselves  did  lower; 

Tin  kettles,  rotten  eggs, 

Cabbage-stalks,  and  wooden  legs, 
They  flung  among  the  patriots  of  Shannon  shore. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LIMERICK.  545 

O  the  girls  began  to  scrame 

And  upset  the  milk  and  crame  ; 
And  the  honorable  gintlemin,  they  cursed  and  swore: 

And  Mitchil  of  Belfast, 

'Twas  he  that  looked  aghast, 
When  they  roasted  him  in  effigy  by  Shannon  shore. 

O  the  lovely  tay  was  spilt 

On  that  day  of  Ireland's  guilt ; 
Says  Jack  Mitchil,  "  I  am  kilt !     Boys,  where's  the  back  door  ? 

'Tis  a  national  disgrace  : 

Let  me  go  and  veil  me  face  ;  " 
And  he  boulted  with  quick  pace  from  the  Shannon  shore. 

"  Cut  down  the  bloody  horde  !  " 

Says  Meagher  of  the  sword, 
"This  conduct  would  disgrace  any  blackamore ; 

But  the  best  use  Tommy  made 

Of  his  famous  battle  blade 
Was  to  cut  his  own  stick  from  the  Shannon  shore. 

Immortal  Smith  O'Brine 

Was  raging  like  a  line  ; 
'Twould  have  done  your  sowl  good  to  have  heard  him  roar; 

Tn  liis  glory  he  arose, 

And  he  rush'd  upon  his  foes. 
But  they  hit  him  on  the  nose  by  the  Shannon  shore. 

Then  the  Futt  and  Dthragoons 

In  squadthrons  and  platoons, 
With  their  music  playing  chunes,  down  upon  us  bore ; 

And  they  bate  the  rattatoo, 

But  the  Peelers  came  in  view, 
And  ended  the  shaloo  on  the  Shannon  shore. 


546  LYRA  HIBERNICA. 


LARRY  a  TOOLE. 

You've  all  heard  of  Larry  O'Toole, 
Of  the  beautiful  town  of  Drumgoole; 

He  had  but  one  eye, 

To  ogle  ye  by — 
Oh,  murther,  but  that  was  a  jew'l ! 

A  fool 
He  made  of  de  girls,  dis  O'Toole. 

'Twas  he  was  the  boy  didn't  fail, 

That  tuck  down  pataties  and  mail ; 
He  never  would  shrink 
From  any  sthrong  dthrink. 

Was  it  whiskey  or  Drogbeda  ale; 
I'm  bail 

This  Larry  would  swallow  a  pail. 

Oh,  many  a  night  at  the  bowl, 
With  Larry  I've  sot  cheek  by  jowl ; 

He's  gone  to  his  rest, 

Where  there's  dthrink  of  the  best. 
And  so  let  us  give  his  old  sowl 

A  howl. 
For  'twas  he  made  the  noggin  to  rowl. 


THE  ROSE  OF  FLORA. 

Sent  by  a  Young  Gentleman  of  Quality  to  Miss  Br — dy,  of  Castle  Braify 

On  Brady's  tower  there  grows  a  flower. 
It  is  the  loveliest  flower  that  blows, — 

At  Castle  Brady  there  lives  a  lady 
(And  liow  I  love  her  no  one  knows); 

Her  name  is  Nora,  and  the  goddess  Flora 
Presents  her  with  this  bloomins:  rose. 


THE  LAST  IRISH  CRIEVAiYCE. 

O  Lady  Nora,"  says  the  goddess  Flora, 

"  I've  many  a  rich  and  bright  parterre  ; 
In  Brady's  towers  there's  seven  more  flowers, 

But  you're  the  fairest  lady  there  : 
Not  all  the  county,  nor  Ireland's  bounty, 

Can  produce  a  treasure  that's  half  so  fair ! " 

What  cheek  is  redder  ?  sure  roses  fed  her  ! " 
Her  hair  is  maregolds,  and  her  eye  of  blew. 

Beneath  her  eyelid,  is  like  the  vi'let. 
That  darkly  glistens  with  gentle  jew ! 

The  lily's  nature  is  not  surely  whiter 

Than  Nora's  neck  is, — and  her  arrums  too. 

"  Come,  gentle  Nora,"  says  the  goddess  Flora, 
"  My  dearest  creature,  take  my  advice, 

There  is  a  poet,  full  well  you  know  it, 

Who  spends  his  lifetime  m  heavy  sighs, — 

Young  Redmond  Barry,  'tis  him  you'll  marry. 
If  rhyme  and  raisin  you'd  choose  likewise.''' 


547 


THE  LART  IRISH  GRIEVANCE. 

On  reading  of  the  general  indignation  occasioned  in  Ireland  by  the 
appointment  of  a  Scotch  Professor  to  one  of  Her  Majesty's  God- 
less Colleges,  Master  Molloy  Molony,  brother  of  Thaddeus 
MoLONY,  Esq.,  of  the  Temple,  a  youth  only  fifteen  years  of  age, 
dashed  off  the  following  spirited  lines  : — 

As  I  think  of  the  insult  that's  done  to  this  nation, 
Red  tears  of  rivinge  from  me  faytures  I  wash. 

And  uphold  in  this  pome,  to  the  world's  daytistation. 
The  sleeves  that  appointed  Professor  M'Cosh. 

I  look  round  me  counthree,  renowned  by  exparience, 
And  see  midst  her  childthren,  the  wittj^,  the  wise, — 

Whole  hayps  of  logicians,  potes,  schollars,  grammarians, 
All  avger  for  pleeces,  all  panting  to  rise ; 
28* 


HS  LYRA  iriBERNICA. 

I  gaze  round  the  world  in  its  utmost  diminsion; 

Lard  Jahn  and  his  minions  in  Council  I  ask, 
Was  there  ever  a  Government-pleece  (with  a  pinsion) 

But  children  of  Erin  were  fit  for  that  task  ? 

What,  Erin  beloved,  is  thy  fetal  condition  ? 

What  shame  in  aych  boosom  must  rankle  and  burrun, 
To  think  tliat  our  countree  has  ne'er  a  logician 

In  the  hour  of  her  deenger  will  surrev  her  turrun  ! 

On  tlie  logic  of  Saxons  there's  little  reliance. 

And,  rather  from  Saxons  than  gather  its  rules, 
I'd  stamp  under  feet  the  base  book  of  his  science, 

And  spit  on  his  chair  as  he  taught  in  the  schools  ! 

O  false  Sir  John  Kane!  is  it  thus  that  you  praych  me  ? 

I  think  all  your  Queen's  Universities  Bosh  ; 
And  if  you've  no  neetive  Professor  to  taycli  me, 

I  scawurn  to  be  learned  by  the  Saxon  M'CosH. 

There's  Wiseman  and  Chume,  and  His  Grace  the  Lord  Primate, 
That  sinds  round  the  box,  and  the  world  will  subscribe  ; 

'Tis  they'll  build  a  College  that's  fit  for  our  climate, 
And  taych  me  the  saycrets  I  burn  to  imboibe  ! 

'Tis  there  as  a  Student  of  Science  I'll  enther. 

Fair  Fountain  of  Knowledge,  of  Joy,  and  Contint ! 

Saint  Pathrick's  sweet  Statue  shall  stand  in  the  centher 
And  wink  his  dear  oi  every  day  during  Lint. 

And  good  Doctor  Newman,  that  praycher  unwary, 

'Tis  he  shall  preside  the  Academee  School, 
And  quit  the  gay  robe  of  St.  Philip  of  Neri, 

To  wield  the  soft  rod  of  St.  Lawrence  O'Toole! 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 


THE   WOFLE  NEW  BALLAD  OF  JANE  RONEY 
AND  MAR  Y  BRO  WN 

An  igstrawnary  tail  I  vill  tell  you  this  veek— 
I  stood  in  the  Court  of  A' Beckett  the  Beak, 
Vere  Mrs.  Jane  Roney,  a  vidow,  I  see, 
Who  charged  Mary  Brown  with  a  robbin  of  she. 

This  Mary  was  pore  and  in  misery  once, 

And  she  came  to  Mrs.  Roney  it's  more  than  twelve  monce. 

She  adn't  got  no  bed,  nor  no  dinner  nor  no  tea. 

And  kind  Mrs.  Roney  gave  Mary  all  three. 

Mrs.  Roney  kep  Mary  for  ever  so  many  veeks, 
(Her  conduct  disgusted  the  best  of  all  Beax,) 
She  kep  her  for  nothink,  as  kind  as  could  be. 
Never  thinkin  that  this  Mary  was  a  traitor  to  she. 

*'  Mrs.  Roney,  O  Mrs.  Roney,  I  feel  very  ill ; 
Will  you  just  step  to  the  Doctor's  for  to  fetch  me  a  pill?** 
"That  I  will,  my  pore  Mary,"  Mrs.  Roney  says  she; 
And  she  goes  off  to  the  Doctor's  as  quickly  as  may  be. 

No  sooner  on  this  message  Mrs.  Roney  was  sped. 
Than  hup  gits  vicked  Mary,  and  jumps  out  a  bed  ; 
She  hopens  all  the  trunks  without  never  a  key — 
She  bustes  all  the  bo.xes,  and  vith  them  makes  free. 

(!4g) 


550  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 

Mrs.  Roney's  best  linning,  gownds,  petticoats,  and  close, 
Her  children's  little  coats  and  things,  her  boots,  and  her  hose, 
She  packed  them,  and  she  stole  'em,  and  avay  vith  them  did  flea 
Mrs.  Roney's  situation — you  may  think  vat  it  vould  be  I 

Of  Mary,  ungrateful,  who  had  served  her  this  vay, 
Mrs.  Roney  heard  nothink  for  a  long  year  and  a  day. 
Till  last  Thursday,  in  Lambeth,  ven  whom  should  shee  see 
But  this  Mary  as  had  acted  so  ungrateful  to  she. 

She  was  leaning  on  the  helbo  of  a  worthy  young  man, 
They  were  going  to  be  married,  and  were  walkin  hand  in  hand 
And  the  Church  bells  was  a  ringing  for  Mary  and  he, 
And  the  parson  was  ready,  and  a  waitin  for  his  fee. 

When  up  comes  Mrs.  Roney,  and  faces  Mary  Brown, 
Who  trembles,  and  castes  her  eyes  upon  the  ground. 
She  calls  a  jolly  pleaseman,  it  happens  to  be  me  ; 
I  charge  this  young  woman,  Mr.  Pleaseman,  says  she. 

"  Mrs.  Roney,  o,  Mrs.  Roney,  o,  do  let  me  go, 

I  acted  most  ungrateful  I  own  and  I  know, 

But  the  marriage  bell  is  a  ringin,  and  the  ring  you  mr.y  see. 

And  this  young  man  is  a  waitin,"  says  Mary  says  she. 

*'  I  don't  care  three  fardens  for  the  parson  and  dark, 
And  the  bell  may  keep  ringin  from  noon  day  to  dark. 
Mary  Brown,  Mary  Brown,  you  must  come  along  with  me 
And  I  think  this  young  man  is  lucky  to  be  free." 

So,  in  spite  of  the  tears  which  bejew'd  Mary's  cheek, 
I  took  that  young  girl  to  A'Beckett,  the  Beak  ; 
That  exlent  Justice  demanded  her  plea— 
But  never  a  suUablc  said  Mary  said  she. 

On  account  of  her  conduck  so  base  and  so  vile, 
That  wicked  young  gurl  is  committed  for  trile, 
And  if  she's  transpawted  beyond  the  salt  sea, 
It's  a  proper  reward  for  such  willians  as  she. 

Now  you  young  gurls  of  Southwark  for  Mary  who  veep. 
From  pickin  and  stealin  your  ands  you  must  keep, 
Or  it  may  be  my  dooty,  as  it  was  Thursday  veek, 
To  pull  you  all  hup  to  A'Beckett  the  Beak. 


THE  THREE  CHRISTMAS  WAITS.  551 


THE  THREE  CHRISTMAS  WAITS. 

My  name  is  Pleaceman  X  ; 

Last  night  I  was  in  bed, 
A  dream  did  me  perplex, 

Which  came  into  my  Edd. 
I  dreamed  I  sor  three  Waits 

A  playing  of  their  tune, 
At  Pimlico  Palace  gates. 

All  underneath  the  moon. 
One  puffed  a  hold  French  horn, 

And  one  a  hold  Banjo, 
And  one  chap  seedy  and  torn 

A  H Irish  pipe  did  blow. 
They  sadly  piped  and  played, 

Dexcribing  of  their  fates  ; 
And  this  was  what  they  said. 

Those  three  pore  Christmas  Waits : 

"  When  this  black  year  began, 

This  Eighteen-forty-eight, 
I  was  a  great  great  man, 

And  king  both  vise  and  great. 
Aad  Munseer  Guizot  by  me  did  show 

As  Minister  of  State. 

"  But  Febuwerry  came. 

And  brought  a  rabble  rout, 
And  me  and  my  good  dame 

And  children  did  turn  out. 
And  us,  in  spite  of  all  our  right, 

Sent  to  the  right  about. 

"  I  left  my  native  ground, 

I  left  my  kin  and  kith, 
I  left  my  royal  crownd, 

Vich  I  couldn't  travel  vith, 
And  without  a  pound  came  to  English  ground, 

In  the  name  of  Mr.  Smith. 


r'r2  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X, 

"  Like  any  anchorite 

I've  lived  since  I  came  here, 
I've  kep  myself  quite  quite, 

I've  drank  the  small  small  beer, 
And  the  vater,  30U  see,  disagrees  with  me 

And  all  my  famly  dear. 

"  O  Tweeleries  so  dear, 

O  darling  Pally  Royl, 
Vas  it  to  finish  here 

That  I  did  trouble  and  toyl  ? 
That  all  my  plans  should  break  in  my  ands 

And  should  on  me  recoil  ? 

"  My  state  I  fenced  about 

Vith  baynicks  and  vith  guns : 
My  gals  I  portioned  hout, 
Rich  vives  I  got  my  sons ; 

0  varn't  it  crule  to  lose  my  rule, 
My  money  and  Jaiids  at  once  ? 

"  And  so,  with  arp  and  woice, 

Both  troubled  and  shagreened, 

1  bid  you  to  rejoice, 

0  glorious  England's  Oueend  ! 

And  never  have  to  veep,  like  pore  Louis-Phileep, 
Because  you  out  ai'e  cleaned. 

"  O  Prins,  so  brave  and  stout, 

1  stand  before  your  gate  ; 
Pray  send  a  trifle  hout 

To  me,  your  pore  old  Vait ; 
For  nothink  could  be  vuss  than  it's  been  along  vith  us 
In  this  year  Forty-eight." 

**  Ven  this  bad  year  began," 

The  next  man  said,  saysee, 
"  I  vas  a  Journeyman, 

A  taylor  black  and  free. 
And  my  wife  went  out  and  chaired  about. 

And  my  name's  the  bold  Cuffee. 


THE  THREE  CHRISTMAS  WAITS,  555 

«'  The  Queen  and  Halbert  both 

I  swore  I  would  confound, 
I  took  a  hawfle  hoath 

To  drag  them  to  the  ground  ; 
And  sevral  more  with  me  they  swore 

Aeinst  the  British  Crownd. 


"Aginst  her  Pleacemen  all 
We  said  we'd  try  our  strenth ; 

Her  scarlick  soldiers  tall 

We  vow'd  we'd  lay  full  lenth  : 

And  out  we  came,  in  Freedom's  name, 
Last  Aypril  was  the  tenth. 

"  Three  'undred  thousand  snobs 

Came  out  to  stop  the  vay, 
Vith  sticks  vith  iron  knobs, 

Or  else  we'd  gained  the  day. 
The  harmy  quite  kept  out  of  sight, 

And  so  ve  vent  avay. 

**  Next  day  the  Pleacemen  came— . 

Rewenge  it  was  their  plann — 
And  from  my  good  old  dame 

They  took  her  tailor-mann: 
And  the  hard  hard  beak  did  me  bespeak 

To  Newgit  in  the  Wann. 

"In  that  etrocious  Cort 

The  Jewry  did  agree ; 
The  Judge  did  me  transport, 

To  go  beyond  the  sea : 
And  so  for  life,  from  his  dear  wife 

They  took  poor  old  Cuflee. 

♦'  O  Halbert,  Appy  Prince  ! 

With  children  round  your  knees 
Ingraving  ansum  Prints, 

And  taking  hoff  your  hease  ; 
O  think  of  me,  the  old  Cuffee, 

Beyond  the  solt  solt  seas  ! 


554  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 

"  Although  I'm  hold  and  black, 
My  hanguish  is  most  great; 

Great  Prince,  O  call  me  back, 
And  I  vill  be  your  Vait! 

And  never  no  more  vill  break  the  Lor, 
As  I  did  in  'Forty-eight." 

The  tailer  thus  did  close 

(A  pore  old  blackymore  rogue), 

When  a  dismal  gent  uprose. 
And  spoke  with  Hirish  brogue  : 

"  I'm  Smith  O'Brine,  of  Royal  Lme, 
Descended  from  Rory  Ogue. 

«  When  great  O'Connle  died, 
Tliat  man  whom  all  did  trust, 

That  man  whom  Henglisu  pride 
Beheld  with  such  disgust, 

Then  Erin  free  fixed  eyes  on  me, 
And  swoar  I  should  be  fust. 

"  '  The  glorious  Hirish  Crown,' 
Says  she,  '  it  shall  be  thine  : 

Long  time  it's  wery  well  known, 
You  kcp  it  in  your  line ; 

That  diadem  of  hemerald  gem 
Is  yours,  rny  Smith  O'Brine. 

"'Too  long  the  Saxon  churl 
Our  land  encumbered  hath  ; 

Arise  my  Prince,  my  Earl, 

And  brush  them  from  thy  path  : 

Rise,  mighty  Smith,  and  sveep  'em  vith 
The  besom  of  your  wrath.' 

*'  Then  in  ray  might  I  rose, 

My  country  I  surveyed, 
I  saw  it  filled  with  foes, 

I  viewed  them  undismayed  ; 
*  Ha,  ha  ! '  says  I,  the  harvest's  high, 

I'll  reap  it  with  my  blade.' 


THE  THREE  CHRISTMAS  WAITS.  555 

"  My  warriors  I  enrolled, 

They  rallied  round  their  lord  ; 
And  cheafs  in  council  old 

I  summoned  to  the  board — 
Wise  Dohenv  and  Duffy  bold, 

And  Meao;her  of  the  Sword. 


"  I  stood  on  Slievenamaun, 

They  came  with  pikes  and  bills: 

They  gathered  in  the  dawn, 
Like  mist  upon  the  hills. 

And  rushed  adown  the  mountain  side 
Like  twenty  thousand  rills. 

"  Their  fortress  we  assail ; 

Hurroo  !  my  boys,  hurroo! 
The  Moody  Saxons  quail 

To  hear  the  wild  shaloo  : 
Strike,  and  prevail,  proud  Innefail, 

O 'Brine  aboo,  aboo  \ 

*'  Our  people  they  defied  ; 

They  sliot  at  'em  like  savages. 
Their  bloody  guns  they  plied 

With  sanguinary  ravages : 
Hide,  blushing  Glory,  hide 

That  day  among  the  cabbages ! 

**  And  so  no  more  I'll  say, 
But  ask  your  Mussy  great, 

And  humbly  sing  and  pray, 
Your  Majesty's  poor  Wait : 

Your  Smith  O'Brine  in  'Forty-nine 
Will  blush  for  'Forty-eight." 


556  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  2C 

LINES  OJSr  A  LATE  HOSPICIOUS  EWENT* 

BY   A   GENTLEMAN    OF  THE   FOOT-GUARDS    (BLUE). 

I  PACED  upon  my  beat 

With  steady  step  and  slow, 
All  huppandownd  of  Ranelagh  Street; 

Ran'lagh  St.  Pirnlico. 

While  marching  huppandownd 

Upon  that  fair  May  morn, 
Behold  the  booming  cannings  sound, 

A  royal  child  is  born  ! 

The  Ministers  of  State 

Then  presnly  I  sor, 
They  gallops  to  the  Pallis  gate, 

In  carridges  and  for. 

With  anxious  looks  intent, 

Before  the  gate  they  stop, 
There  comes  the  good  Lord  President, 

And  there  the  Archbishopp. 

Lord  John  he  next  elights ; 

And  who  comes  here  in  haste? 
*Tis  the  ero  of  one  underd  fights, 

The  caudle  for  to  taste. 

Then  Mrs.  Lily,  the  nuss. 

Towards  them  steps  with  joy; 

Says  the  brave  old  Duke,  "  Come  tell  to  us, 
Is  it  a  gal  or  a  boy  ?  " 

Says  Mrs.  L.  to  the  Duke, 

"  Your  Grace,  it  is  a  Prince. 
And  at  that  nuss's  bold  rebuke, 

He  did  both  laugh  and  wince. 

*  The  birtli  oi  Pnuce  Arthur. 


LINES  ON  A  LA  TE  HOSPTCTOUS  EWE  NT.  557 

He  vews  with  pleasant  look 

This  pooty  flower  of  May, 
Then  says  the  wenerable  Duke, 

"Egad,  it's  my  buthday." 

By  memory  backards  borne, 

Peraps  his  thoughts  did  stray 
To  that  old  place  where  he  was  born, 

Upon  the  first  of  May. 

Perhaps  he  did  recall 

The  ancient  towers  of  Trim; 
And  County  Meath  and  Dangan  Hall 

They  did  rewisit  him. 

I  phansy  of  him  so 

His  good  old  thoughts  employin 
Fourscore  years  and  one  ago 

Beside  the  flowin   Boyne. 

His  father  praps  he  sees, 

Most  musicle  of  Lords, 
A  playing  maddrigles  and  glees 

Upon  the  Arpsicords. 

Jest  phansy  this  old  Ero 

Upon  his  mother's  knee ! 
Did  ever  lady  in  this  land 

Ave  greater  sons  than  she  "i 

And  I  shoudn  be  surprize 

While  this  was  in  his  mind, 
\i  a  drop  tlicre  twinkled  in  his  eyes 

Of  unfamiliar  brind. 


To  Hapsly  Ouse  neqt  day 
Drives  up  a  Broosh  and  for, 

A  gracious  prince  sits  in  tliat  Shay 
(I  mentior.  him  with  Hor!j 


558  THE  BALI. ADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X, 

They  ring  upon  the  bell, 
The  Porter  shows  his  Ed 

(He  fought  at  Waterloo  as  veil, 
And  vears  a  Veskit  red). 


To  see  that  carriage  come, 

The  people  round  it  press  : 
**  And  is  the  galliant  Du]<e  at  ome  ?  '* 
"Your  Royal  Ighness,  yes." 

He  stepps  from  out  the  Broosh 

And  in  the  gate  is  gone  ; 
And  X,  although  the  people  push. 

Says  wary  kind,  "  Move  hon." 

The  Royal  Prince  unto 

The  galliant  Duke  did  say, 

"  Dear  Duke,  my  little  son  and  you 
Was  born  the  self  same  day. 

•'  The  Lady  of  the  land. 
My  wife  and  Sovring  dear, 

It  is  by  her  horgust  command 
1  wait  upon  you  here. 

♦*  That  lady  is  as  well 

As  can  expected  be^ 
And  to  your  Grace  she  bid  me  tell 

This  gracious  message  free. 

"  That  offspring  of  our  race, 
Whom  yesterday  you  see, 

To  show  our  honor  for  your  Grace, 
Prince  Arthur  he  shall  be. 

"  That  name  it  rhymes  to  fame  ; 

All  Europe  knows  the  sound  : 
And  I  couldn't  find  a  better  name 

If  you'd  give  me  twenty  pound. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  ELIZA  DA  VIS.  559 

*'  King  Arthur  had  his  knights 

That  girt  his  table  round. 
But  you  have  won  a  hundred  fights, 

Will  match  'em  I'll  be  bound. 

*'You  fought  with  Bonypart, 

And  likewise  Tippoo  Saib ; 
1  name  you  then  with  all  my  heart 

The  Godsire  of  this  babe." 

That  Prince  his  leave  was  took, 

His  interview  was  done. 
So  let  us  give  the  good  old  Duke 

Good  luck  of  his  god-son. 

And  wish  him  years  of  joy 

In  this  our  time  of  Schism, 
And  hope  he'll  hear  the  royal  boy 

His  little  catechism. 

And  my  pooty  little  Prince 

That's  come  our  arts  to  cheer, 
Let  me  my  loyal  powers  ewince 

A  weicomm  of  you  ere. 

And  the  Poit-Laureat's  crownd, 

I  think,  in  some  respex, 
Egstremely  shootable  might  be  found 

For  honest  Pleaseman  X. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  ELIZA  DAVIS, 

Galliant  gents  and  lovely  ladies, 

List  a  tail  vich  late  befell, 
Vich  I  heard  it,  bein  on  duty 

At  the  Pleace  Hofflce,  Clerkenwell. 

Praps  you  know  the  Fondling  Chapel, 
Vere  the  little  children  sings  : 

(Lor  !  I  likes  to  hear  on  Sundies 
Them  there  pooty  little  things  ! 


560  ^H£^  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 

In  this  street  there  lived  a  housemaid, 
If  you  particularly  ask  me  where — 

Vy,  it  vas  at  four-and-tventy 

Guilford  Street,  by  Brunsvick  Square. 

Vich  her  name  was  Eliza  Davis, 
And  slie  went  to  fetch  the  beer: 

In  the  street  she  met  a  party 
As  was  quite  surprized  to  see  her. 

Vich  he  vas  a  British  Sailor, 
For  to  judge  him  by  his  look: 

Tarry  jacket,  canvas  trowsies, 
Ha-la  Mr.  T.  P.  Cooke. 

presently  this  Mann  accostes 
Of  this  hinnocent  young  gai — 

"Pray,"  saysee,  "excuse  my  freedom, 
You're  so  like  my  Sister  Sal ! 

**  You're  so  like  my  Sister  Sally, 
Both  in  valk  and  face  and  size, 

Miss,  that — dang  my  old  lee  scuppers, 
It  brings  tears  into  my  heyes  ! 

*'  I'm  a  mate  on  board  a  wessel, 
I'm  a  sailor  bold  and  true : 

Shiver  up  my  poor  old  timbers, 
Let  me  be  a  mate  for  you  ! 

"What's  your  name,  my  beauty,  tell  mc;* 
And  she  faintly  hansers,  "  Lore, 

Sir,  my  name's  Eliza  Davis, 
And  I  live  at  tventy-four." 

Hofttimes  came  this  British  seaman, 
This  deluded  gal  to  meet ; 

And  at  tventy-four  was  welcome, 
Tventy-four  in  Guilford  Street. 

And  Eliza  told  her  Master 

(Kinder  they  than  Missuses  are), 

How  in  marridge  he  had  ast  her, 
Like  a  galliant  Brittish  Tar. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  ELIZA  DAVIS.  561 

And  he  brought  his  landlady  vith  hitti 

(Vich  vas  all  his  hartful  plan). 
And  she  told  how  Charley  Thompson 

Reely  vas  a  good  young  man. 

And  how  she  herself  had  lived  in 

Many  years  of  union  sweet, 
Vith  a  gent  she  met  promiskous, 

Valkin  in  the  public  street. 

And  Eliza  listened  to  them, 

And  she  thought  that  soon  their  bands 
Vould  be  published  at  the  Fondlin, 

Hand  the  clergyman  jine  their  ands. 

And  he  ast  about  the  lodgers 

(Vich  her  master  let  some  rooms), 
Likevise   vere  they  kep  their  things,  and 

Vere  her  master  kep  his  spoons. 

Hand  this  vicked  Charley  Thompsoa 

Came  on  Sundy  veek  to  see  her; 
And  he  sent  Eliza  Davis 

Hout  to  fetch  a  pint  of  beer. 

Hand  while  pore  Eliza  vent  to 

Fetch  the  beer,  dewoid  ot  sin, 
This  etrocious  Charley  Thompson 

Let  his  wile  accomplish  hin. 

To  the  lodgers,  their  apartments, 

This  abandlngd  female  goes, 
Prigs  their  shirts  and  umberellas; 

Prigs  their  boots,  and  hats,  and  clothe*. 

Vile  the  scoundrle  Charley  Thompsoq, 

Lest  his  wictim  should  escape, 
Hocust  her  vith  rum  and  vater. 

Like  a  fiend  in  burning  shape. 

But  a  hi  was  fixt  upon  'em 

Vich  these  rask'»s  little  sore; 
Namely,  Mr.  Hide,  the  landlord 

Of  the  house  at  tventy-four. 


562  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 

He  vas  valkin  in  his  garden, 
Just  afore  he  vent  to  sup ; 

And  on  looking  up  he  sor  the 
Lodgers'  vinders  lighted  hup. 

Hup  the  stairs  the  landlord  tumbled ; 

Something's  going  wrong,  he  said; 
And  he  caught  the  vicked  voman 

Underneath  the  lodgers'  bed. 

And  he  called  a  brother  Pleaseman, 

Vich  was  passing  on  his  beat ; 
Like  a  true  and  galliant  feller, 

Hup  and  down  in  Guilford  Street. 

And  that  Pleaseman  able-bodied 
Took  this  voman  to  the  cell ; 

To  the  cell  vere  she  was  quodded, 
In  the  Close  of  Clerkenwell. 

And  though  vicked  Charley  Thompson 
Boulted  like  a  miscrant  base, 

Presently  another  Pleaseman 
Took  him  to  the  self-same  place. 

And  this  precious  pair  of  raskles 
Tuesday  last  came  up  for  doom; 

By  the  beak  they  was  committed, 
Vich  his  name  was  Mr.  Combe. 

Has  for  poor  Eliza  Davis, 
Simple  gurl  of  tventy-four, 

She^  I  ope,  vill  never  listen 
In  the  streets  to  sailors  moar. 

But  if  she  must  avc  a  sweet-art 
(Vich  most  every  gurl  exper^ 

Let  her  take  a  jolly  pleaseman ; 
Vith  his  name  peraps  ic — X. 


DAMAGES  TWO  HUNDRED  POUNDS.  563 


DAMAGES,  TWO  HUNDRED  POUNDS. 

Special  Jurymen  of  England  !  who  admire  your  country's  laws, 
And  proclaim  a  British  Jury  worthy  of  the  realm's  applause; 
Gayly  compliment  each  other  at  the  issue  of  a  cause 
Which  was  tried  at  Guildford  'sizes,  this  day  week  as  ever  was. 

Unto  that  august  tribunal  comes  a  gentleman  in  grief, 
(Special  was  the  British  Jury,  and  the  Judge,  the  Baron  Chief,) 
Comes  a  British  man  and  husband — asking  of  the  law  relief, 
For  his  wife  was  stolen  from  him — he'd  have  vengeance  on  the 
thief. 

Yes,  his  wife,  the  blessed  treasure   with   the  which  his  life  was 

crowned, 
"Wickedly  was  ravished  from  him  by  a  hypocrite  profound. 
And  he  comes  before  twelve    Britons,  men  for  sense  and  truth 

renowned, 
To  award  him  for  his  damage,  twenty  hundred  sterling  pound. 

He  by  counsel  and  attorney  there  at  Guildford  does  appear, 
Asking  damage  of  the  villain  who  seduced  his  lady  dear. 
But  I  can't  help  asking,  though  the  lady's  guilt  was  all  too  clear, 
And  though  guilty  the  defendant,  wasn't  the  plaintiff  rather  queer  ? 

First  the  lady's  mother  spoke,  and  said  she'd  seen  her  daughter 

cry 
But  a  fortnight  after  marriage  :  early  times  for  piping  eye. 
Six  months  after,  things  were  worse,  and  the  piping  eye  was  black. 
And  this  gallant  British  husband  caned  his  wife  upon  the  back. 

Three  months  after  they  were  married,  husband  pushed  her  lo  the 

door, 
Told  her  to  be  off  and  leave  him,  for  he  wanted  her  no  more. 
As  she  would  not  go,  why  he  went :  thrice  he  left  his  lady  dear; 
Left  her,  too,  without  a  penny,  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  year. 

Mrs.  Frances  Duncan  knew  the  parties  very  well  indeed, 

She  had  seen  him  pull  his  lady's  nose  and  make  her  lip  to  bleed; 

If  he  chanced  to  sit  at  home  not  a  single  word  he  said  : 

Once  she  saw  him  throw  the  cover  of  a  dish  at  his  lady's  heads 


564  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 

Sarah  Green,  another  witness,  clear  did  to  the  jury  note 
How  she  saw  this  honest  fellow  seize  his  lady  by  the  throat, 
How  he  cursed  her  and  abused  her,  beating  her  into  a  fit. 
Till  the   pitying  next-door  neighbors  crossed  the  wall  and  wit« 
nessed  it. 

Next  door  to  this  injured  Briton  Mr.  Owers  a  butcher  dwelt ; 
Mrs.  Owers's  foolish  heart  towards  this  erring  dame  did  melt ; 
(Not  that  slie  had  erred  as  yet,  crime  was  not  developed  in  her), 
But  being  left  without  a  penny,  Mrs.  Owers  supplied  her  dinner- 
God  be  merciful  to  Mrs.  Owers,  who  was  merciful  to  this  sinner! 

Caroline  Naylor  was  their  servant,  said  they  led  a  wretched  life, 
Saw  this  most  distinguished  Briton  fling  a  teacup  at  his  wife ; 
He  went  out  to  balls  and  pleasures,  and  never  once,  in  ten  months' 

space. 
Sat  with  his  wife  or  spoke  her  kindly.     This  was  the  defendant's 

case. 

Pollock,    C.  B.,  charged   the   Jury;  said   the  woman's  guilt  was 

clear  : 
That  was  not  the  point,  however,  which  the  Jury  came  to  hear; 
But  the  damage  to  determine  which,  as  it  should  true  appear, 
This  most  tender-hearted  husband,  who  so  used  his  lady  dear — 

Beat  her,  kicked  her,  caned  her,  cursed  her,  left  her  starving,  year 

by  year. 
Flung  her  from  him,  parted  from  her,  wrung  her  neck,  and  boxed 

her  ear — 
What  the  reasonable  damage  this  afflicted  man  could  claim, 
By  the  loss  of  the  affections  of  this  guilty  graceless  dame  ? 

Then  the  honest  British  Twelve,  to  each  other  turning  round, 
Laid  their  clever  heads  together  with  a  wisdom  most  profound  : 
And  towards  his  Lordship  looking,  spoke  the  foreman  wise  and 

sound ; — 
**  My  Lord,  we  find  for  this  here  plaintiff,  damages  two  hundred 

pound." 

So,  God  bless  the  Special  Jury!  pride  and  joy  of  English  ground, 
And  the  happy  land  of  England,  where  true  justice  does  abound  ! 
British  jurymen  and  husbands,  let  us  hail  this  verdict  proper : 
I(  a  British  wife  offends  you,  Britons,  you've  a  right  to  whop  her. 


THE  KNICIIT  AND  THE  LADY.  .565 

Though  you  promised  to  protect  her,  though  you   promised   to 

defend  her, 
You  are  welcome  to  neglect  her  :  to  the  devil  you  may  send  her : 
You    may  strike   her,    curse,    abuse    her  ;    so    declares    our   law 

renowned ; 
And  if  after  this  you   lose  her, — why,  you're  paid  two  hundred 

pound. 


THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  LADY 

There's  in  the  Vest  a  city  pleasant 
To  vich  King  Bladud  gev  his  name, 

And  in  that  city  there's  a  Crescent 
Vere  dwelt  a  noble  knight  of  fame. 

Although  that  galliant  knight  is  oldish, 
Although  Sir  John  as  gray,  gray  air, 

Hage  has  not  made  his  busum  coldish, 
His  Art  still  beats  tewodds  the  Fair ! 

'Twas  two  years  sins,  this  knight  so  splendid, 
Peraps  fateagued  with  Bath's  routines. 

To  Paris  towne  his  phootsteps  bended 
In  sutch  of  gayer  folks  and  seans. 

His  and  was  free,  his  means  was  easy, 

A  nobler,  finer  gent  than  he 
Ne'er  drove  about  the  Shons-Eleesy, 

Or  paced  the  Roo  de  Rivolee. 

A  brougham  and  pair  Sir  John  prowided, 
In  which  abroad  he  loved  to  ride; 

But  ar  !  he  most  of  all  enjyed  it, 

When  some  one  helse  was  sittin'  inside.' 

That  "  some  one  helse  "  a  lovely  dame  was, 
Dear  ladies,  you  will  heasy  tell — 

Countess  Grabrowski  her  sweet  name  was, 
A  noble  title,  ard  to  spell. 


566  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 

This  faymus  Countess  ad  a  daughter 
Of  lovely  form  and  tender  art ; 

A  noble.'nan  in  marridge  sought  her, 
By  name  the  Baron  of  Saint  Bart. 

Their  pashn  touched  the  noble  Sir  John, 
It  was  so  pewer  and  profound  ; 

Lady  Grabrowski  he  did  urge  on 

With  Hyming's  wreeth  their  loves  to  crown 

**  O,  come  to  Bath,  to  Lansdowne  Crescent," 
Says  kind  Sir  John,  "  and  live  with  me; 

The  living  there's  uncommon  pleasant — 
I'm  sure  you'll  find  the  hair  agree. 

"  O,  come  to  Bath,  my  fair  Grabrowski, 
And  bring  your  charming  girl,"  sezee  ; 

"The  Barring  here  shall  have  the  ouse-key, 
Vith  breakfast,  dinner,  lunch,  and  tea. 

"  And  when  they've  passed  an  appy  winter, 
Their  opes  and  loves  no  more  we'll  bar; 

The  marridge-vow  they'll  enter  inter, 
And  I  at  church  will  be  their  Par." 

To  Bath  they  went  to  Lansdowne  Crescent, 
Where  good  Sir  John  he  did  provide 

No  end  of  teas  and  balls  incessant, 
And  bosses  both  to  drive  and  ride. 

He  was  so  Ospitably  busy. 

When  Miss  was  late,  he'd  make  so  bold 
Up  stairs  to  call  out,  "  Missy,  Missy, 

Come  down,  the  coffy's  getting  cold  ! " 

But  O  !  'tis  sadd  to  think  such  bounties 
Should  meet  with  such  return  as  this ; 

O  Barring  of  Saint  Bart,  O  Countess 
Grabrowski,  and  O  cruel  Miss  ! 

He  married  you  at  Bath's  fair  Habby, 
Saint  Bart  lie  treated  like  a  son — 

And  wasn't  it  uncommon  shabby 

To  do  what  you  have  went  and  done ! 


JACOB  HOMNIUM'S  HOSS.  567 

My  trembling  And  amost  refewses 

To  write  the  charge  which  Sir  John  swore, 

Of  which  the  Countess  he  ecuses, 
Her  daughter  and  her  son-in-lore. 

My  Mews  quite  blushes  as  she  sings  of 

The  fatlc  charge  which  now  I  quote  : 
He  says  Miss  took  his  two  best  rings  off, 

And  pawned  'em  for  a  tenpun  note. 

*Is  this  the  child  of  honest  parince, 

To  make  away  with  folks'  best  things  ? 
Is  this,  pray,  like  the  wives  of  Barrins, 
To  go  and  prig  a  gentleman's  rings  ?  " 

Thus  thought  Sir  John,  by  anger  wrought  on, 

And  to  rewenge  his  injured  cause, 
He  brought  them  hup  to  Mr.  Broughton, 

Last  Vensday  veek  as  ever  waws. 

If  guiltless,  how  she  have  been  slandered! 

If  guilty,  wengeance  will  not  fail : 
Meanwhile  the  lady  is  remanded 

And  gev  three  hundred  pouns  in  bail. 


^ACOB  HOMNIUM'S  HOSS. 

A   NEW    PALLICE   COURT   CHAUNT. 

One  sees  in  Viteall  Yard, 
Vere  pleacemen  do  resort, 

A  wenerable  hinstitute, 

'Tis  call'd  the  Pallis  Court. 
A  gent  as  got  his  i  on  it, 

I  think  'twill  make  some  sport. 

The  natur  of  this  Court 

My  hindignation  riles: 
A  few  fat  legal  spiders 

Here  set  &:  spin  their  viles; 
To  rob  the  town  theyr  privlege  iq, 

In  a  hayrea  of  twelve  miles. 


563  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X, 

The  Judge  of  this  year  Court 

Is  a  melHtary  beak, 
He  knows  no  more  of  Lor 

Than  praps  he  does  of  Greek, 
And  prowides  hisself  a  deputy 

Because  he  cannot  speak. 

Four  counsel  in  this  Court — 
Misnamed  of  Justice — sits ; 

These  lawyers  owes  their  places  to 
Their  money,  not  their  wits  ; 

And  there's  six  attornies  under  them. 
As  here  their  living  gits. 

These  lawyers,  six  and  four, 
Was  a  livin  at  their  ease, 

A  sendin  of  their  writs  abowt. 
And  droring  in  the  fees. 

When  their  erose  a  cirkimstance 
As  is  like  to  make  a  breeze. 


It  now  is  some  monce  since, 

A  gent  both  good  and  trew 
Possest  an  ansum  oss  vith  vich 

He  didn  know  what  to  do ; 
Peraps  he  did  not  like  the  oss, 

Peraps  he  was  a  scru. 

This  gentleman  his  oss 

At  Tattersall's  did  lodge  ; 
There  came  a  wulgar  oss-dealer, 

This  gentleman's  name  did  fodge, 
And  took  the  oss  from  Tattersall's ; 

Wasn  that  a  artf-ul  dodge  ? 

One  day  tliis  gentleman's  groom 

This  willain  did  spy  out, 
A  mounted  on  this  oss 

A  ridin  him  about ; 
*♦  Get  out  of  that  there  oss,  you  rogue,** 

Speaks  up  tlie  groom  so  soutt. 


JACOB  HOMNIUM'S  HOSS.  56c 

The  thief  was  cruel  whex'd 

To  find  himself  so  pinn'd  ; 
The  OSS  began  to  whinny, 

The  honest  groom  he  grinn'd ; 
And  the  raskle  thief  got  off  the  osS 

And  cut  avay  like  vind. 

And  phansy  with  what  joy 

The  master  did  regard 
His  dearly  l)luvd  lost  oss  again 

Trot  in  the  stable  yard  ! 

Who  was  this  master  good 

Of  whomb  I  makes  these  rhymes  ? 
His  name  is  Jacob  Homnium,  Esquire  | 

And  if  /'d  committed  crimes. 
Good  Lord  !  I  wouldn't  ave  that  maun 

Attack  me  in  the  Tvncs  ! 

Now  shortly  after  the  groomb 

His  master's  oss  did  take  up, 
There  came  a  livery-man 

This  gentleman  to  wake  up  ; 
And  he  handed  in  a  little  bill, 

Which  hangered  Mr.  Jacob. 

For  two  pound  seventeen 

This  livery-man  epiied, 
For  the  keep  of  Mr.  Jacob's  oss, 

Which  the  thief  had  took  to  ride. 
"  Do  you  see  anythink  green  in  me  ?** 

Mr.  Jacob  Homnium  cried.  < 

"  Because  a  raskle  chews 

My  oss  away  to  robb, 
And  goes  tick  at  your  Mews 

For  seven-and-fifty  bobb, 
Shall  /  be  call'd  to  pay  ? — It  is 

"A  iniquitious  Jobb." 

Thus  Mr.  Jacob  cut 

The  conwasation  short ; 
The  livery-man  went  ome. 


570  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 

Detummingd  to  ave  sport, 
And  summingsd  Jacob  Homnium,  Exquir^ 
Into  the  Pallis  Court. 

Pore  Jacob  went  to  Court, 

A  Counsel  for  to  fix, 
And  choose  a  barrister  out  of  the  four, 

An  attorney  of  the  six  : 
And  there  he  sor  these  men  of  Lor, 

And  watch'd  'em  at  their  tricks. 

The  dreadful  day  of  trile 

In  the  Pallis  Court  did  come ; 

The  lawyers  said  their  say, 
The  Judge  look'd  wery  glum, 

And  then  the  British  Jury  cast 
Pore  Jacob  Hom-ni-um. 

0  a  weary  day  was  that 

For  Jacob  to  go  through  ; 
The  debt  was  two  seventeen 

(Which  he  no  mor  owed  than  you). 
And  then  there  was  the  plaintives  costs, 

Eleven  pound  six  and  two. 

And  then  there  was  his  own, 
Which  the  lawyers  they  did  fix 

At  the  wery  moderit  figgar 
Of  ten  pound  one  and  six. 

Now  Evins  bless  the  Pallis  Court, 
And  all  its  bold  ver-dicks  ! 

I  cannot  settingly  tell 

If  Jacob  swaw  and  cust, 
At  aving  for  to  pay  this  sumb; 

But  I  should  think  he  must, 
And  av  drawn  a  check  for  ^24  4j-,  84 

With  most  igstreme  disgust. 

O  Pallis  Court,  you  move 

My  pitty  most  profound, 
A  most  cm  using  sport 


THE  SPECULATOR.  571 

You  thought  it,  I'll  be  bound, 

To  saddle  hup  a  three-pound  debt, 

With  two-and-twenty  pound. 

Good  sport  it  is  to  you 

To  grind  the  honest  pore, 
To  pay  their  just  or  unjust  debts 

With  eight  hundred  per  cent,  for  Lor; 
Make  haste  and  get  your  costes  in, 

They  will  not  last  much  mor  ! 

Come  down  from  that  tribewn, 

Thou  shameless  and  Unjust; 
Thou  Swindle,  picking  pockets  itt 

The  name  of  Truth  august : 
Come  down,  thou  hoary  Blasphemy, 

For  die  thou  shalt  and  must. 

And  go  it,  Jacob  Homnium, 

And  ply  your  iron  pen. 
And  rise  up,  Sir  John  Jervis, 

And  shut  me  up  tliat  den  •, 
That  sty  for  fattening  lawyers  in 

On  the  bones  of  honest  men. 

Pleaceman  X. 


THE    SPECULATORS. 

The  night  was  stormy  and  dark,  The  town  was  shut  up  in 
sleep  :  Only  those  were  abroad  who  were  out  on  a  lark,  Or  those 
who'd  no  beds  to  keep. 

I  pass'd  through  the  lonely  street.  The  wind  did  sing  and  blow  ; 
I  could  hear  the  policeman's  feet     Clapping  to  and  fro. 

There  stood  a  potato-man  In  the  middle  of  all  the  wet;  He 
stood  with  his  'tato-can     In  the  lonely  Haymarket. 

Two  gents  of  dismal  mien.  And  dank  and  greasy  rags,  Came 
out  of  a  shop  for  gin.     Swaggering  over  the  flags  : 


572 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 


Swaggering  over  the  stones,  These  shabby  bucks  did  walk; 
And  I  went  and  followed  those  seedy  ones,  And  listened  to  their 
talk. 

Was  T  sober  or  awake  ?  Could  I  believe  my  ears  ?  Those 
dismal  beggars  spake     Of  nothing  but  railroad  shares. 

I  wondered  more  and  more  :  Says  one — "  Good  friend  of  mine, 
How  many  shares  have  you  wrote  for,  In  the  Diddlesex  Junction 
line?" 

"  I  wrote  for  twenty,"  says  Jim,  "  But  they  wouldn't  give  me 
one  ; "  His  comrade  straight  rebuked  him  For  the  folly  he  had 
done : 

"  O  Jim,  you  are  unawares  Of  the  ways  of  this  bad  town  ;  / 
always  write  for  five  hundred  shares.    And  then  they  put  me  down." 

"  And  yet  you  got  no  shares,"  Says  Jim,  "  for  all  your  boast ;  " 
"  I  would  \i-xvQ  wrote,"  says  Jack,  "  but  where  Was  the  penny  to 
pay  the  post  ?  " 

"  I  lost,  for  I  couldn't  pay  That  first  instalment  up ;  But 
here's  'taters  smoking  hot — I  say.     Let's  stop,  my  boy,  and  sup." 

And  at  this  simple  feast  The  while  they  did  regale,  I  drew 
each  ragged  capitalist     Down  on  my  left  thumb-nail. 

Their  talk  did  me  perplex,  All  night  I  tumbled  and  tost,  And 
thought  of  railroad  specs,     And  how  money  was  won  and  lost. 

"  Bless  railroads  everywhere,"  I  said,  "  and  the  world's 
advance  ;  Bless  every  railroad  share  In  Italy,  Ireland,  France; 
For  never  a  beggar  need  now  despair,  And  every  rogue  has  9 
chance." 


A  WOEFUL  NEW  BALLAD. 


573 


A   WOEFUL  NE  W  BALLAD. 

OF   THE 

PROTESTANT  CONSPIRACY  TO  TAKE   THE  POPES  LIFE. 

(BY    A   GENTLEMAN   WHO    HAS   BEEN    ON   THE    SPOT.) 

Come  all  ye  Christian  people,  unto  my  tale  give  ear, 

'Tis  about  a  base  consperracy,  as  quickly  shall  appear ; 

'Twill  make  your  hair  to  bristle  up,  and  your  eyes  to  start  and  glow, 

When  of  this  dread  consperracy  you  honest  folks  shall  know. 

The  news  of  this  consperrac}'  and  villianous  attempt, 

I  read  it  in  a  newspaper,  from  Italy  it  was  sent : 

It  was  sent  from  lovely  Italy,  where  the  olives  they  do  grow. 

And  our  Holy  Father  lives,  yes,  yes,  while  his  name  it  is  No  NO. 

And  'tis  there  our  English  noblemen  goes  that  is  Puseyites  no 

longer, 
Because  they  finds  the  ancient  faith  both  better  is  and  stronger. 
And  'tis  there  I  knelt  beside  my  lord  when  he  kiss'd  the  Pope  his 

toe. 
And  hung  his  neck  with  chains  at  Saint  Peter's  Vinculo. 

And  'tis  there  the  splendid  churches  is,  and  the  fountains  playing 

grand, 
And  the  palace  of  Prince  Torlonia,  likewise  the  Vatican ; 
And  there's  the  stairs  where  the  bagpipe-men  and  the  piffararys 

blow. 
And  it's  there  I  drove  my  lady  and  lord  in  the  Park  of  Pincio. 

And  'tis  there  our  splendid  churches  is  in  all  their  pride  and  glory, 
Saint  Peter's  famous  Basilisk  and  Saint  Mary's  Maggiory ; 
And  them  benighted  Prodestants,  on  Sunday  they  must  go 
Outside  the  town  to  the  preaching-shop  by  the  gate  of  Popolo. 

Now  in  this  town  of  famous  Room,  as  I  dessay  you  have  heard, 

There  is  scarcely  any  gentleman  as  hasn't  got  a  beard. 

And  ever  since  the  world  began  it  was  ordained  so. 

That  there  should  always  barbers  be  whercsumcver  beards  do  grow, 


574  THE  BALLADS  OF  PC  LLC  EM  AN  X. 

And  as  it  always  lias  been  so  since  the  world  it  did  begin, 
Ahe  Pope,  our  Holy  Potentate,  has  a  beard  upon  his  chin; 
And  every  morning  regular  when  cocks  begin  to  crow, 
There  comes  a  certing  party  to  wait  on  Pope  Pio. 

There  comes  a  certing  gintleman  with  rar^ier,  soap  and  lather, 
A  shaving  most  respectfully  the  Pope,  our  Holy  Father. 
And  now  the  dread  consperracy  I'll  quickly  to  you  show, 
Which  them  sanguinary  Prodestants  did  form  against  NoNO. 

Them  sanguinary  Prodestants,  which  I  abore  and  hate, 
Assembled  in  the  preaching-shop  by  the  Flaminian  gate ; 
And  they  took  counsel  with  their  selves  to  deal  a  deadly  blow 
Against  our  gentle  Father,  the  Holy  Pope  Pio. 

Exhibiting  a  wickedness  which  I  never  heerd  or  read  of ; 

What  do  you  think  them  Prodestants  wished  ?  to  cut  the  good 

Pope's  head  off ! 
And  to  the  kind  Pope's  Air-dresser  the  Prodestant  Clark  did  go. 
And  proposed  him  to  decapitate  the  innocent  Pio. 

"What  hever  can  be  easier,"  said  this  Clerk — this  Man  of  Sin, 
"  When  you  are  called  to  hoperate  on  His  Holiness's  chin, 
Than  just  to  give  the  razier  a  little  slip — just  so  ? — 
And  there's  an  end,  dear  barber,  of  innocent  Pio  !  " 

This  wicked  conversation  it  chanced  was  overerd 

By  an  Italian  lady  ;  she  heard  it  every  word  : 

Which  by  birth  she  was  a  Marchioness,  in  service  forced  to  go 

With  the  parson  of  the  preaching-shop  at  the  gate  of  Popolo. 

When  the  lady  heard  the  news,  as  duty  did  obleege. 
As  fast  as  her  legs  could  carry  her  she  ran  to  the  Poleege. 
"  O  Polegia,"  says  she  (for  they  pronounts  it  so), 
"  They're  going  for  to  massyker  our  Holy  Pope  Pio. 

"The  ebomminable  Englishmen,  the  Parsing  and  his  Clark, 
His  Holiness's  Air-dresser  devised  it  in  the  dark! 
And  I  would  recommend  you  in  prison  for  to  throw 
These  villians  would  esassinate  the  Holy  Pope  Pio  ! 

"And  for  saving  of  His  Holiness  and  his  trebble  crownd 
I  humbly  hope  youi  Worships  will  give  me  a  few  pound ; 


THE  FOUNDLING  OF  SIIOREDITCH.  575 

Because  I  was  a  Marchioness  many  years  ago, 
Before  I  came  to  service  at  the  gate  of  Popolo." 

That  sackreligious  Air-dresser,  the  Parson  and  his  man, 
Wouldn't,  though  ask'd  continyally,  own  their  wicked  plan— 
And  so  the  kind  Authoraties  let  those  villians  go 
That  was  plotting  of  the  murder  of  the  good  Pio  Nono, 

Now  isn't  this  safishnt  proof,  ye  gentlemen  at  home, 
How  wicked  is  them  Prodestants,  and  how  good  our  Pope  at  Rome  ; 
So  let  us  drink  confusion  to  Lord  John  and  Lord  Minto 
And  a  health  unto  His  Eminence  and  good  Pio  Nono. 


THE  LAMENTABLE  BALLAD  OF  THE  FOUND- 
LING OF  SHOREDITCH. 

Come  all  ye  Christian  people,  and  listen  to  my  tail, 

It  was  all  about  a  doctor  was  travelling  by  the  rail, 

By  the  Heastern  Counties'  Railway  (vich  the  shares  I  don't  desire), 

From  Ixworth  town  in  Suffolk,  vich  his  name  did  not  transpire. 

A  travelling  from  Bury  this  Doctor  was  employed 
With  a  gentleman,  a  friend  of  his,  vich  his  name  was  Captain  Loyd, 
And  on  reaching  Marks  Tey  Station,  tiiatis  next  beyond  Colchest- 
er, a  lady  entered  in  to  them  most  elegantly  dressed. 

She  entered  into  the  Carriage  all  with  a  tottering  step, 
And  a  pooty  little  Bayby  upon  her  bussum  slep  ; 
The  gentleman  received  her  with  kindness  and  siwillaty, 
Pitying  this  lady  for  her  illness  and  debillaty. 

She  had  a  fust-class  ticket,  this  lovely  lady  said, 
Because  it  was  so  lonesome  she  took  a  secknd  iuntead. 
Better  to  travel  by  secknd  class,  than  sit  alone  i.i  the  fust, 
And  the  pooty  little  Baby  upon  her  breast  she  nust. 

A  scein  of  her  cryin,  and  shiverin  and  pail, 
To  her  spoke  this  siirging,  the  Ero  of  my  tail ; 


5^6  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN"  X. 

Saysee  you  look  unwell,  Ma'am,  I'll  elp  you  if  I  can, 
And  you  may  tell  your  case  to  me,  for  I'm  a  meddicle  man. 

"  Thank  you,  Sir,''  the  lady  said,  "  I  only  look  so  pale, 
Because  I  ain't  accustom'd  to  travelling  on  the  Rale; 
I  shall  be  better  presnly,  when  I've  ad  some  rest :  " 
And  that  pooty  little  Baby  she  squeeged  it  to  her  breast. 

So  in  conwersation  the  journey  they  beguiled. 

Captain  Loyd  and  the  meddicle  man,  and  the  lady  and  the  chilJ, 

Till  the  warious  stations  along  the  line  was  passed, 

For  even  the  Heastern  Counties'  trains  must  come  in  at  last. 

When  at  Shoreditch  tumminus  at  lenth  stopped  the  train, 
This  kind  meddicle  gentleman  proposed  his  aid  again. 
"  Thank  you.  Sir,"  the  lady  said,  "for  your  kyindness  dear; 
My  carridge  and  my  osses  is  probibbly  come  here. 

"  Will  you  old  this  baby,  please,  vilst  I  step  and  see  ?  " 
The  Doctor  was  a  famly  man  :  "  That  I  will,''  says  he. 
Then  the  little  child  she  kist,  kist  it  very  gently, 
Vich  was  sucking  his  little  fist,  sleeping  innocently. 

With  a  sigh  from  her  art,  as  though  she  would  have  bust  it, 
Then  she  gave  the  Doctor  the  child — wery  kind  he  nust  it: 
Hup  then  the  lady  jumped  hoff  the  bench  she  sat  from. 
Tumbled  down  the  carridge  steps  and  ran  along  the  platform. 

Vile  hall  the  other  passengers  vent  upon  their  vays, 
The  Capting  and  the  Doctor  sat  there  in  a  maze; 
Some  vent  in  an  Homminibus,  some  vent  in  a  Cabby, 
The  Capting  and  the  Doctor  vaited  vith  the  babby. 

There  they  sat  looking  queer,  for  an  hour  or  more, 
But  their  feller  passinger  neather  on  'em  sore  : 
Never,  never  back  again  did  that  lady  come 
To  that  pooty  sleeping  Hinfnt  a  sucking  of  his  Thuml 

What  could  this  pore  Doctor  do,  bein  treated  thus, 

When  the  darhng  baby  woke,  cryin  for  its  nuss  ? 

Off  he  drove  to  a  female  friend,  vich  she  was  both  kind  and  mild^ 

And  igsplained  to  her  the  circumstance  of  this  year  little  child. 


THE  FOUNDLING  OF  SHOREDITCH.  57} 

That  kind  lady  took  the  child  instantly  in  her  lap, 

And  made  it  very  comfortable  by  giving  it  some  pap ; 

And  when  she  took  its  close  off,  what  d'you  think  she  found? 

A  couple  of  ten  pun  notes  sewn  up,  in  its  little  gownd ! 

Also  in  its  little  close,  was  a  note  which  did  conwey, 

That  this  little  baby's  parents  lived  in  a  handsome  way 

And  for  its  Headucation  they  reglarly  would  pay, 

And  sirtingly  like  gentlefolks  would  claim  the  child  one  day, 

If  the  Christian  people  who'd  charge  of  it  would  say, 

Per  adwertisement  in  The  Times  where  the  baby  lay. 

Pity  of  this  bayby  many  people  took, 

It  had  such  pooty  ways  and  such  a  pooty  look ; 

And  there  came  a  lady  forrard  (I  wish  that  I  could  see 

Any  kind  lady  as  would  do  as  much  for  me  ; 

Aand  I  wish  with  all  my  art,  some  night  in  my  night  gownd, 
I  could  find  a  note  stitched  for  ten  or  twenty  pound) —  , 

There  came  a  lady  forrard,  that  most  honorable  did  say, 
She'd  adopt  this  little  baby,  which  her  parents  castaway. 

While  the  Doctor  pondered  on  this  hoffer  fair. 
Comes  a  letter  from  Devonshire,  from  a  party  there, 
Hordering  the  Doctor,  at  its  Mar's  desire. 
To  send  the  little  Infant  back  to  Devonshire. 

Lost  in  apoplexity,  this  pore  meddicle  man, 
Like  a  sensable  gentleman,  to  the  Justice  ran  ; 
Which  his  name  was  Mr.  Hammill,  a  honorable  beak. 
That  takes  his  seat  in  Worship  Street  four  times  a  week. 

"  O  Justice  !  '■  says  the  Doctor,  ''  instrugt  me  what  to  do. 
Tve  come  up  from  the  country,  lo  throw  myself  on  you ; 
My  patients  have  no  doctor  to  tend  them  in  their  ills, 
(There  they  are  in  Suffolk  withi  ut  their  draffts  and  pills  !) 

"  I've  come  up  from  the  country,  to  know  how  I'll  dispose 
Of  this  pore  little  baby,  and  the  twenty  pun  note,  and  the  close, 
And  I  want  to  go  back  to  Suffolk,  dear  Justice,  if  you  please. 
And  my  patients   wants   their    Doctor,  and  their    Doctor   wants 
his  teez." 

22 


578  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 

Up  spoke  Mr.  Hammill,  sittin  at  his  desk, 

"  This  year  application  does  me  much  perplesk ; 

What  I  do  adwise  you,  is  to  leave  this  babby 

In  the  Parish  where  it  was  left,  by  its  mother  shabby." 

The  Doctor  from  his  Worship  sadly  did  depart — 
He  might  have  left  the  baby,  but  he  hadn't  got  the  heart 
Togo  for  to  leave  that  Hinnocent,  has  the  laws  allows, 
To  the  tender  mussies  of  the  Union  House, 

Mother,  who  left  this  little  one  on  a  stranger's  knee, 
Think  how  cruel  you  have  been,  and  how  good  was  he! 
Think,  if  you've  been  guilty,  innocent  was  she; 
And  do  not  take  unkindly  this  little  word  of  me: 
Heaven  be  merciful  to  us  all,  sinners  as  we  be  1 


THE  ORGAN-BOY'S  APPEAL. 

"Westminster  Pouch  Court. — Policeman  X  brought  a  paper  of  doggerel 
verses  to  the  Magistrate,  which  had  been  thrust  into  his  hands,  X  said,  by  an  Itahan 
boy,  who  ran  away  immediately  afterwards. 

•'  The  Magistrate,  after  perusing  the  lines,  looked  hard  at  X,  and  said  he  did  not 
think  they  were  wTitten  by  an  Italian. 

X,  blushing,  said  he  thought  the  paper  read  in  Court  last  week,  and  which 
Irightcned  so  the  old  gentleman  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  was  also  not  of  Italian 
origin." 

O  SiGNOR  Broderip,  you  are  a  wickid  ole  man, 
You  wexis  us  little  horgin-boys  whenever  you  can : 
How  dare  you  talk  of  Justice,  and  go  for  to  seek 
To  pussicute  us  horgin-boys,  you  senguinary  Beek  ? 

Though  you  set  in  Ve^f  minster  surrounded  by  your  crushers, 
Harrogint  and  habsolutc  like  the  Hortacrat  of  hall  the  Rushers, 
Yet  there  is  a  better  vurld,  I'd  have  you  for  to  know. 
Likewise  a  place  vere  the  hcnimics  of  horgin-boys  will  go. 

O  you  vickid  IIkrod  without  any  pity  ! 

London  vithout  horgin-boys  vood  be  a  dismal  city. 

Sweet  Saint  Cicilv  who  first  taught  horgin-pipes  to  blow 

Soften  the  heart  of  this  Magistrit  that  haggerywates  us  sol 


THE  ORGAN-BOY'S  APPEAL.  579 

Good  Italian  gentlemen,  fatherly  and  kind, 
Brings  us  over  to  London  here  our  horgins  for  to  grind ; 
Sends  us  out  vith  little  vite  mice  and  guinea-pigs  also 
A  popping  of  the  Veasel  and  Jumpin  of  Jim  Crow. 

And  as  us  young  horgin-boys  is  grateful  in  our  turn 
We  gives  to  these  kind  gentlemen  hall  the  money  we  earn, 
Because  that  they  vood  vop  us  as  wery  wel  we  know 
Unless  we  brought  our  burnings  back  to  them  as  loves  us  so. 

O  Mr.  Broderip  !  wery  much  I'm  surprise, 

Ven  you  take  your  valks  abroad  where  can  be  your  eyes  ? 

If  a  Beak  had  a  heart  then  you'd  compryend 

Us  pore  little  horgin-boys  was  the  poor  man's  friend. 

Don't  you  see  the  shildren  in  the  droring-rooms 
Clapping  of  their  little  ands  when  they  year  our  toons? 
On  their  mothers'  bussums  don't  you  see  the  babbies  crow 
And  down  to  us  dear  horgin-boys  lots  of  apence  throw  ? 

Don't  you  see  the  ousemaids  (pooty  Follies  and  Maries), 

Ven  ve  bring  our  urdigurdies,  smiling  from  the  hairies  ? 

Then  they  come  out  vith  a  slice  o'  cole  puddn  or  a  bit  o'  bacon 

or  so 
And  give  it  us  young  horgin-boys  for  lunch  afore  we  go. 

Have  you  ever  seen  the  Hirish  children  sport 

When  our  velcome  music-box  brings  sunshine  in  the  Court  ? 

To  these  little  paupers  who  can  never  pay 

Surely  all  good  horgin-boys,  for  God's  love,  will  play, 

Has  for  those  proud  gentlemen,  like  a  serting  B — k 
(Vich  I  von't  be  pussonal  and  therefore  vil  not  speak). 
That  flings  their  parler-vinders  hup  ven  ve  begin  to  play 
And  cusses  us  and  swears  at  us  in  such  a  wiolent  way. 

Instedd  of  their  abewsing  and  calling  hout  Poleece 
Let  em  send  out  John  to  us  vith  sixpence  or  a  shillin  apiece. 
Then  like  good  young  horgin-boys  avay  from  there  we'll  go. 
Blessing  sweet  Saint  Cicily  that  taught  our  pipes  to  blow. 


5So  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 


LITTLE  BILLEE.  * 

Air — " li y  avail  un petit  navire" 

There  were  three  sailors  of  Bristol  city 
Who  took  a  boat  and  went  to  sea. 
But  first  with  beef  and  captain's  biscuits 
And  pickled  pork  they  loaded  she. 

There  was  gorging  Jack  and  guzzling  Jimmy, 
And  the  youngest  he  was  little  Billee. 
Now  when  they  got  as  far  as  the  Equator 
They'd  nothing  left  but  one  split  pea. 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 
*'  I  am  extremely  hungaree." 
To  gorging  Jack  says  guzzling  Jimmy, 
"  We've  nothing  left,  us  must  eat  we." 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 
"  With  one  another  we  shouldn't  agree  ! 
There's  little  Bill,  he's  young  and  tender. 
We're  old  and  tough,  so  let's  eat  he. 

"Oh  !  Billy,  we're  going  to  kill  and  eat  you, 
So  imdo  the  button  of  your  chemie." 
When  Bill  received  this  information 
He  used  his  pocket  handkerchie. 

"  First  let  me  say  my  catechism. 

Which  my  poor  mamy  taught  to  me." 

"  Make  haste,  make  haste,"  says  guzzling  Jimmy, 

While  Jack  pulled  out  his  snickersnee. 

So  Billy  went  up  to  the  main-top  gallant  mast. 
And  down  he  fell  on  his  bended  knee. 
He  scarce  had  come  to  the  twelfth  commandment 
When  up  he  jumps.     "  There's  land  I  see  : 

*  As  different  versions  of  this  popular  song  have  been  set  to  music  and  sung,  no 
apology  is  needed  for  the  insertion  in  these  pages  of  what  is  considered  to  be  the  corrKt 
««»ion. 


THE  END  OF  THE  PLAY.  ^Sl 

"Jerusalem  and  Madagascar, 
And  North  and  South  Amerikee : 
There's  the  British  flag  a  riding  at  anchor, 
With  Admiral  Napier,  K.  C.  B." 

So  when  they  got  aboard  of  the  Admiral's 
He  hanged  fat  Jack  and  flogged  Jimmee ; 
But  as  for  little  Bill  he  made  him 
The  Captain  of  a  Seventy-three. 


THE    END    OF  THE   PLAY. 

The  play  is  done  ;  the  curtain  drops, 

Slow  falling  to  the  prompter's  bell: 
A  moment  yet  the  actor  stops. 

And  looks  around,  to  say  farewell. 
It  is  an  irksome  word  and  task  ; 

And,  when  he's  laughed  and  said  his  say, 
He  shows,  as  he  removes  the  mask, 

A  face  that's  anything  but  gay. 

One  word,  ere  yet  the  evening  ends, 

Let's  close  it  with  a  parting  rhyme, 
And  pledge  a  hand  to  all  young  friends, 

As  fits  the  merry  Christmas  time.* 
On  life's  wide  scene  you,  too,  have  parts, 

That  Fate  ere  long  shall  bid  you  play; 
Good  night !  with  honest  gentle  hearts 

A  kindly  greeting  go  alway  ! 

Good  night!— I'd  say,  the  griefs,  the  Joys, 

Just  hinted  in  this  mimic  page, 
The  triumphs  and  defeats  of  boys, 

Are  but  repeated  in  our  age. 
I''d  say,  your  woes  were  not  less  keen, 

Your  hopes  more  vain  than  those  of  men; 
Your  pangs  or  pleasures  of  fifteen 

At  forty-five  played  o'er  again. 

•  These  verses  were  printed  at  the  end  of  a  Christmas  Book  (1848-9),  "Dr.  Birch 
and  his  Young  Friends." 


582  THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 

I'd  say,  we  suffer  and  we  strive, 

Not  less  nor  more  as  men  than  boys ; 
With  grizzled  beards  at  forty-five, 

As  erst  at  twelve  in  corduroys. 
And  if,  in  time  of  sacred  youth. 

We  learned  at  home  to  love  and  pray. 
Pray  Heaven  that  early  Love  and  Truth 

May  never  wholly  pass  away. 

And  in  the  world,  as  in  the  school, 

I'd  say,  how  fate  may  change  and  shift ; 
The  prize  be  sometimes  with  the  fool, 

The  race  not  always  to  the  swift. 
The  strong  may  yield,  the  good  may  fall 

The  great  man  be  a  vulgar  clown, 
The  knave  be  lifted  over  all, 

The  kind  cast  pitilessly  down. 

Who  knows  the  inscrutable  design  ? 

Blessed  be  He  who  took  and  gave  ! 
Why  should  your  mother,  Charles,  not  mine, 

Be  weeping  at  her  darling's  grave .''  * 
We  bow  to  Heaven  that  will'd  it  so, 

That  darkly  rules  the  fate  of  all. 
That  sends  the  respite  or  the  blow, 

That's  free  to  give,  or  to  recall. 

This  crowns  his  feast  with  wine  and  wit : 

Who  brought  him  to  that  mirtli  and  state  ? 
His  betters,  see,  below  him  sit. 

Or  hunger  hopeless  at  the  gate. 
Who  bade  the  mud  from  Dives'  wheel 

To  spurn  the  rags  of  Lazarus  ? 
Come,  brother,  in  that  dust  we'll  kneel. 

Confessing  Heaven  that  ruled  it  thus. 

So  each  shall  mourn,  in  life's  advance, 
Dear  hopes,  dear  friends,  untimely  killed; 

Shall  grieve  for  many  a  forfeit  chance, 
And  longing  passion  unfulfilled. 

•  Cb.  ob.  29th  November,  1S48,  a;t.  42. 


VAN2TAS  VANTTATUM  583 

Amen  !  whatever  fate  be  sent, 

Pray  God  the  heart  may  kindly  glow, 
Although  the  head  with  cares  be  bent. 

And  whitened  with  the  winter  snow. 

Come  wealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill, 

Let  young  and  old  accept  their  part, 
And  bow  before  the  Awful  Will, 

And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart, 
Who  misses  or  who  wins  the  prize. 

Go,  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can  ; 
But  if  you  fail,  or  if  you  rise. 

Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman. 

A  gentleman,  or  old  or  young ! 

(Bear  kindly  with  my  humble  lays) ; 
The  sacred  chorus  first  was  sung 

Upon  the  first  of  Christmas  days  : 
The  shepherds  heard  it  overhead— 

The  joyful  angels  raised  it  then: 
Glory  to  Heaven  on  high,  it  said. 

And  peace  on  earth  to  gentle  men. 

My  song,  save  this,  is  little  worth ; 

I  lay  the  weary  pen  aside, 
And  wish  you  health,  and  love,  and  mirth 

As  fits  the  solemn  Christmas-tide. 
As  fits  the  holy  Christmas  birth. 

Be  this,  good  friends,  our  carol  stills 
Be  peace  on  earth,  be  peace  on  earth, 

To  men  of  gentle  wilL 


VANITAS  VANTTATUM. 

How  spake  of  old  the  Royal  Seer? 

(His  text  is  one  I  love  to  treat  on.) 
This  life  of  ours  he  said  is  sheer 

Mataiotes  Mataioteton, 


5*4 


THE  BALLADS  OF  POLICEMAN  X. 

O  Student  of  this  gilded  Book, 

Declare,  while  musing  on  its  pages, 

If  truer  words  were  ever  spoke 
By  ancient,  or  by  modern  sages  ? 

The  various  authors'  names  but  note,* 

French,  Spanish,  English,  Russians,  Germans; 

And  in  the  volume  polyglot, 

Sure  you  may  read  a  hundred  sermons  ! 

What  histories  of  life  are  here, 

More  wild  than  all  romancers'  stories; 

What  wondrous  transformations  queer, 
What  homilies  on  human  glories  ! 

What  theme  for  sorrow  or  for  scorn  ! 

What  chronicle  of  Fate's  surprises — 
Of  adverse  fortune  nobly  borne. 

Of  chances,  changes,  ruins,  rises  ! 

Of  thrones  upset,  and  sceptres  broke, 
How  strange  a  record  here  is  written 

Of  honors,  dealt  as  if  in  joke ; 
Of  brave  desert  unkindly  smitten. 

How  low  men  were,  and  how  they  rise  ! 

How  high  they  were,  and  how  they  tumble  I 

0  vanity  of  vanities  ! 

0  laughable,  pathetic  jumble  ! 

Here  between  honest  Janin's  joke 
And  his  Turk  Excellency's  firman, 

1  write  my  name  upon  the  book  : 

1  write  my  name — and  end  my  sermon. 


O  vanity  of  vanities  ! 

How  wayward  the  decrees  of  Fate  are 
How  very  weak  the  very  wise, 

How  very  small  the  very  great  are! 

•  Between   a    page    by   Jules   Jnnin,  and  a   pf>crn  l>y  tlic   Turkisli   Ambassador,  in 

Madame  de  R 's  album,  containing  the  autographs  of  kings,  princes,  poets,  marshals, 

Buiaicians,  diplomatists,  statesmen,  artists,  and  men  of  letters  of  all  nations. 


ANITAS  VANITATUM. 

What  mean  these  stale  moralities, 

Sir  Preaeher,  from  your  desk  you  mumble  ? 
Why  rail  against  the  great  and  wise, 

And  tire  us  with  your  ceaseless  grumble  ? 

Pray  choose  us  out  another  text, 
O  man  morose  and  narrow-minded 

Come  turn  the  page — I  read  the  next, 
And  then  the  next,  and  still  I  find  it. 

Read  here  how  Wealth  aside  was  thrust, 

And  Folly  set  in  place  exalted  ; 
How  Princes  footed  in  the  dust. 

While  lackeys  in  the  saddle  vaulted. 

Though  thrice  a  thousand  years  are  past, 
Since  David's  son,  the  sad  and  splendid. 

The  weary  King  Ecclesiast, 

Upon  his  awful  tablets  penned  it, — 

Methinks  the  text  is  never  stale, 

And  life  is  every  day  renewing 
Fresh  comments  on  the  old  old  tale 

Of  Folly,  Fortune,  Glory,  Ruin. 

Hark  to  the  Preacher,  preaching  still 
He  lifts  his  voice  and  cries  his  sermon. 

Here  at  St.  Peter's  of  Cornhill, 
As  yonder  on  the  Mount  of  Hermon; 

For  you  and  me  to  heart  to  take 
(O  dear  beloved  brother  readers) 

To-day  as  wlien  the  good  King  spake 
Beneath  the  solemn  Syrian  cedars. 


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